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pascalhowlett · 3 months ago

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Ethereal Chapter 9

A/N: OKAY I DON'T WANT TO SPOIL TOO MUCH BUT THIS IS MY FAVORITE CHAPTER OF ANYTHING THAT I HAVE EVER WRITTEN. THANK YOU SO MUCH FOR READING!!!

If you prefer to read on AO3, that can be found here!

Warnings: Mentions of r*pe, implied r*pe, graphic depictions of violence, major character death, smut (eventually)

Summary: After the Roman Empire takes over Numidia, Cecilia is purchased by Emperor Geta as a pawn in his attempts to take over Rome. What will happen when she meets General Marcus Acacius, the soldier who was responsible for the death of her lover, Atticus Claudius?

Pairing: Marcus Acacius x Original Female Character

This is Chapter 9! Find the rest of the chapters on my Tumblr here!

Word Count: 4k+

The next morning, dressed in her typical, frivolous silk gowns, she was given permission to see Acacius. They met in the familiar passage at the colosseum, where gladiators went to prepare for their matches…a path to their death. She shivered, knowing her precious Acacius was about to suffer a similar fate, because of her. He was adorned in armor for his match. The first thing Cecila noticed is that someone had beat him, as his lip was bloody, bruises scattered across his jaw.

Acacius stood silently, his head bowed as a guard adjusted the straps of his armor. The battered bronze plates gleamed, their purpose clear: not protection, but spectacle. His lip was split, dried blood staining the corner of his mouth. Dark bruises marred his jawline, their edges a sickly yellow-green, evidence of vicious blows delivered with cruel intent.

“Acacius,” she whispered, stepping closer, almost unable to look at him in this state.

His head lifted sharply at her voice, his eyes meeting hers. For a moment, the tension in his body eased, his hardened expression softening as if her presence alone healed any pain he was currently facing.

“Cecilia,” he said, his voice low and hoarse. “Why are you here? You shouldn’t—”

“They let me see you,” she interrupted, her voice trembling. She reached out, hesitating before her fingers lightly brushed his cheek, careful to avoid the bruises. “What did they do to you?”

He shook his head, catching her hand gently within his own. “It doesn’t matter,” he said, his tone firm but weary. “This is what they want—to weaken me before the fight. To make it a torturous death.”

“It matters to me,” she said fiercely, her eyes brimming with tears. “How can you stand there like this, knowing what they’re forcing you into?”

His thumb traced the back of her hand as he studied her face, a faint, bittersweet smile tugging at his lips. “Because I finally have something to fight for,” he said softly.

“What are you fighting for Acacius?’ She asked sadly. “The soldiers, the elders, they are dead.”

But part of her thought she knew the answer he was about to give her.

“You,” he said simply, without hesitation. His voice was steady, but his eyes betrayed the depth of his emotion. “I’m fighting for you… for the chance to see you free from all of this, even if it costs me everything.”

She shook her head, caressing his cheek once more in disbelief. “You can’t say that,” she said, tears spilling over her lashes as she looked into those beautiful brown eyes. “You can’t put all of this on yourself. It’s not fair.”

“Fairness doesn’t matter in a world like this,” Acacius said, his grip on her hand tightening. “What matters is keeping you safe. That’s what gives me strength. You are my strength, my purpose.”

Her breath hitched, her fingers curling around his. “You shouldn’t have to fight at all,” she said, her voice breaking. “This is madness, Acacius. You do not deserve this…there has to be another way.”

He glanced down, his jaw tightening. “If there is, I haven’t found it,” he admitted. “But whatever happens, you need to stay safe. Stay far from the arena, do not watch this.”

“No,” she said firmly, stepping closer.

Acacius’s eyes burned with emotion as he tilted her chin up to meet his gaze. “Cecilia,” he said, his voice low and strained but determined, “your strength keeps me standing. But I can’t bear the thought of you seeing what’s about to happen.”

Her tears spilled over, but she didn’t look away. “Then give me something to hold onto,” she said. “A promise that this won’t be the end. Not here…not now…not after this match. That I’ll see you again after this.”

His hand lingered on her cheek, his calloused fingers gentle as they danced across her soft skin. Something possessed him, an overwhelming feeling of love that propelled him forward.

He kissed her, their lips crashing together at first as a whisper of a promise, but then something more ignited between them. The passion, the pent up feelings that had been mere fantasies in both of their heads…it all poured into the kiss, transforming it into something more. He pulled her closer, his hand sliding to the back of her neck in a firm caress, his armor pressing against the delicate silk of her gown.

Cecilia’s fingers tangled in the straps of his armor as she kissed him back with equal fervor, her tears mingling with the taste of him as she pulled him closer. It was as if the world had fallen away, leaving only the two of them clinging to each other in defiance of everything that sought to tear them apart.

Their tongues danced as they tasted one another for the first time, both of them knowing it would now be their favorite addiction.

When they finally parted, their foreheads pressed together, their breaths mingling into a shared pace within the small space between them.“I’m sorry,” he whispered, his voice breaking. “I had to—”

“Don’t apologize,” she interrupted, her voice trembling but firm. “Never apologize for that.”

He closed his eyes for a moment, as if committing her words—and her touch—to his memory. “You’ve given me something to live for,” he said softly. “And I’ll fight for it until my last breath, my sweet.”

Cecilia cupped his face, her thumbs brushing over the bruises that only worked to define his strong features. “And I’ll find a way to keep you safe,” she vowed, her voice filled with quiet determination, “I promise. You will live through this.”

“I promise,” he repeated, his voice steady despite the odds stacked against them. “For you, I’ll survive.”

Acacius started to step away but she pulled him back in, giving him one more fiery kiss as a way of sealing their deal. “You have to,” she chuckled, trying to make him smile, “you can’t leave me hanging after a kiss like that, can you?”

Acacius froze as her words reached him, the weight of her touch and the meaningful kiss still lingering on his lips. For a moment, the corner of his mouth twitched, a hint of a smile breaking through his stoic demeanor. “No,” he said softly, his voice carrying a familiar warmth. “I suppose I can’t.”

Cecilia chuckled through the tears threatening to spill, her hand lingering on the edge of his armor. “Good,” she whispered in his ear, placing a kiss just beneath it. “Then you’d better come back to me, General. That’s an order.”

He let out a low chuckle, a sound she hadn’t realized she needed to hear until now. “An order from the Empress?” he teased, the tension in his voice easing just a fraction. “How could I refuse?”

She gave him a playful nudge, though her heart was breaking. “You’d better not,” she replied, trying to mask her fear with bravado as she continued to whisper in his ear. “Or I’ll come drag you back myself.”

Acacius’s smile faded as he lifted a hand to cup her face once more, his thumb brushing lightly against her cheek as he leaned back to examine her features. “Cecilia,” he murmured, his voice low and filled with emotion, “you’re the only thing keeping me standing right now. Don’t ever forget that.”

She nodded, her throat too tight to respond.

The sound of the guard shifting reminded them of the reality they were still trapped in. Acacius reluctantly stepped back once more, his eyes lingering on her as if afraid she might vanish if he looked away.

“I’ll see you again,” he promised, his voice steady despite the lingering fear within him. “For you, I’ll survive.”

And then he turned, the sound of his boots against the stone floor echoing in her ears as the distance between them grew. Cecilia stood frozen, her hands clenched at her sides, as the man she had come to care for more than anything disappeared into the shadows.

Acacius unsheathed his sword, the blade catching the pale light filtering through the open arches of the Colosseum. The weight of the steel in his hand was both familiar and sobering—a reminder of the countless battles he had fought, and the one waiting for him now. But, out of every battle he had fought, this one held more weight than all the others combined.

He took a steadying breath and looked up toward the heavens, the roar of the crowd fading into the background. The vast expanse of the sky stretched bove him, a stark contrast to the confines of the arena. Closing his eyes, he whispered a silent prayer, his voice steady despite the storm raging within him.

“Great Gods, hear me,” he murmured, the words a plea that carried all the weight of his heart. “Give me the strength to endure. Guide my hand, steady my resolve... and let me come back to her.”

The image of Cecilia flashed in his mind—her defiant gaze, her touch, her whispered words of hope, the way her lips molded to his in perfect unison. She had become his anchor, the reason his heart still beat with purpose.

A breeze stirred, brushing against his face as if the gods themselves acknowledged his prayer. When he opened his eyes, his resolve had hardened. He shifted his grip on the sword, the crowd’s cheers swelling around him like a tidal wave as it only acted to feed his determination.

No matter the odds, no matter the cost, he would fight not just to survive—but to return to her.

Cecilia felt sick as she entered the familiar box with Geta to watch the match. Caracalla had made his first appearance since Geta’s bold executions, the tension clear and evident between the two of them.

Emperor Caracalla sat stiffly, his hand resting on the hilt of his ceremonial sword, his sharp gaze fixed on the arena below as they prepared for the spectacle to begin. “You’re bold, Geta,” he said, his voice low but cutting. “Too bold. Executing senators, making the General fight gladiators… it will cost you.”

Geta chuckled darkly, swirling the wine in his goblet as if the accusations amused him. “Oh, brother, you mistake my actions for recklessness. I assure you, they are calculated.” His gaze flicked briefly to Cecilia, a cruel smirk playing on his lips. “Just as the match today is… calculated.”

Cecilia stiffened under his words, her nails digging into the silk of her gown as she forced herself to remain calm. She couldn’t show weakness, not here, not now, even as it threatened to consume her now more than ever.

Caracalla’s jaw tightened. “You’re toying with fire, Geta. The people may cheer for you now, but when they see the empire run by butchers, they will turn.”

“And they will still have me to fear,” Geta replied coldly, leaning forward. “Unlike you, I don’t rely on their love. Power comes from control, not sentiment.”

Cecilia swallowed hard, forcing herself to look out over the arena. Her breath hitched as she caught sight of Acacius entering, his broad shoulders framed in battered armor, the sword at his side shining and hanging from his strong arm. He looked broad and brave even from a distance, somehow still managing to make her heart flutter.

“Little dove,” Geta said to her, “do you worry for your dear friend?”

Friend. She almost chuckled at the word. Acacius was so much more than a friend now—her heart knew it, her very soul burned with the truth—but she could never let Geta see that.

To him, Acacius needed to be nothing more than a fleeting alliance, a useful tool…not the man who had claimed her heart in the shadows of an empire.

“I worry for anyone forced into the arena unjustly,” she said indifferently, tilting her chin up as if she were merely playing the part of a benevolent empress. “General Acacius is no different.”

Geta’s lips curved into a sly smile, but his eyes narrowed, feeling that there was little truth in her words. “So noble, Cecilia. Always so noble.” He sat back in his chair and laughed, but there was a predatory edge to his tone. “But you need not lie to me. I see the way your eyes linger on him.”

“You’re mistaken,” she said coolly. “I admire his loyalty to the empire. That is all.”

Geta leaned forward again, his dark eyes gleaming with amusement. “Is that so? Then let us see how admirable he is when the lions are set free.”

Her heart lurched, but she held her ground. “Lions? You told him there would be gladiators, not lions.”

Geta smirked, clearly relishing her reaction. “Did I?” he mused, swirling the wine in his goblet lazily. “I must have misspoken. Gladiators, lions… does it really matter, little dove? It’s all bloodshed in the end.”

She forced herself to take a steadying breath. “It matters,” she said sharply, her voice low but firm. “Because even in your twisted games, there are rules, Geta. Or has your desperation for respect made you forget that?”

His smirk faltered for a fraction of a second, but he quickly recovered, leaning back in his chair. “Rules?” he scoffed. “The only rule here is survival. If your dear General is as capable as you claim, then he should have no trouble proving it. Besides, rules were taken off the table after he betrayed me.”

“Acacius has faced far worse than beasts,” she said, her voice steely. “And if you believe this spectacle will break him, you do not know the man you’ve sent to fight.”

But her words were not what she was feeling in her heart. Her chest tightened, a wave of panic rising within her. Acacius had prepared for gladiators—a brutal but calculated fight against men he could predict. Lions were an entirely different horror, unpredictable beasts looking for their next meal. She could already see the crowd’s excitement mounting, their bloodlust tangible as whispers spread through the arena of the change to this match.

“You’re a coward,” she hissed, unable to stop herself. “You stack the odds because you’re afraid of him.”

Geta’s smile vanished, his expression hardening as she spoke the harsh truth he had tried to deny. He leaned close, his voice a venomous whisper as he kissed her neck. “Careful, Cecilia. It would be a shame if my leniency toward you were to... waver. You betrayed me as well, just like him. Yet…you still sit in this box, in your cage.”

She forced herself to remain silent, swallowing her retort. She knew she had agreed to follow Geta’s orders since he had let her see Acacius. The stakes were too high—she couldn’t risk provoking her husband any further. Instead, she turned her attention back to the arena, where Acacius stood in the center ready to face whatever came out of the gates.

Geta barked out a laugh, though the sound was devoid of warmth. “You speak such brave words, little dove. We shall see who is correct about the General.”

As he turned his attention back to the arena, Cecilia allowed herself a single, deep breath, her hands trembling slightly in her lap. She could feel Caracalla’s sharp gaze flicker toward her, but she didn’t look his way.

Caracalla had been watching the exchange between Cecilia and Geta with sharp, calculating eyes. His hands rested on the armrests of his chair, his fingers drumming a slow, deliberate rhythm as he observed Cecilia’s growing distress. He remembered what he had seen between Acacius and Cecilia a mere few days ago. When Geta leaned back with his smug smirk, Caracalla leaned slightly toward her, lowering his voice so only she could hear.

“Do you see it now?” he said, his tone soft but dripping with disdain. “The lengths my brother will go to prove his power? To break anything that threatens his fragile little ego?”

Cecilia didn’t turn to look at him, her eyes fixed on Acacius in the arena. “And you’re any different?” she muttered.

Caracalla chuckled darkly, shaking his head. “Perhaps not,” he admitted, his voice cold. “But at least I don’t mask cruelty as justice.” He straightened in his seat.

Her hands gripped the edge of her seat as she watched Acacius step forward, the tension in her body palpable. Caracalla’s voice dropped lower, almost a whisper now. “You’re a smart woman, Cecilia. Smarter than my fool of a brother gives you credit for. You know what happens if you fight him head-on. Be smart. You and I…we could be truly terrifying together.”

Cecilia shook her head, ignoring his words. Her focus remained on Acacius as he stood, his sword in hand, his face unreadable as he prepared to face the trial ahead.

With that, the gates opened, and two lions came pouncing out of a purposefully small steel cage. Acacius’ eyes widened as he realized he had once again been lied to, and that his opponents would not be the gladiators he was promised. No code of honor, no rules—just primal beasts unleashed for the amusement of a bloodthirsty audience.

His jaw tightened as he looked up toward the imperial box, his eyes locking onto Cecilia’s.

She was already on her feet, her silk gown clinging to her frame as she leaned forward against the railing. Gods, she looked beautiful…he thought. The anguish in her expression was unmistakable, her hands clutching the banister as if she could tear it apart to get to him.

For a moment, everything else faded. The roars of the crowd, the growls of the lions—it all fell away as he held her gaze. He thought of her lips again, her sweet taste that he was already craving more of. Acacius straightened his stance, his grip on the sword firming as a sense of clarity washed over him. He wasn’t just fighting for his survival. He was fighting for her, for the promise of a future they could build together, away from this twisted nightmare.

The lions circled him, their muscles coiling as they prepared to strike. The crowd’s anticipation reached a fever pitch, their cheers echoing in the vast arena.

He held up his sword, his voice steady as he muttered under his breath, “For you, Cecilia.”

Her lips moved as if she were trying to speak, but her voice was lost in the roar of the crowd. He didn’t need to hear her to know what she was saying. Stay alive.

The first lion lunged, its claws outstretched, and Acacius spun to meet it head-on, his blade slicing through the air with precision born from years of battle. The crowd cheered as he moved swiftly, pointing the tip of the blade at the lion’s outstretched jaw.

The second lion wasted no time, its powerful muscles rippling as it leapt toward him from the opposite direction. Acacius dropped to one knee, raising his sword just in time to deflect the attack, the beast’s claws scraping against his armored shoulder. The impact jarred his arm, but he held firm, spinning to face both predators as they circled him like vultures eyeing their prey.

The crowd roared, their cries a mixture of bloodlust and awe. Cecilia felt dizzy, unable to control the tears that seemed to fall naturally down her face. She prayed Emperor Geta would not notice her distress, but she knew that was a lost cause.

Acacius’s breath came in steady but deliberate intervals, his mind racing as he calculated his next move. He couldn’t outlast the lions in a drawn-out fight; he had to use their aggression against them and cut this match short.

The first lion prowled closer, its golden eyes locked onto his, its massive paws kicking up dust with each step. It feinted left, then darted right, swiping at his legs with its claws. Acacius jumped back, his sword slicing downward in a brutal arc, this time connecting with the beast’s shoulder. The lion roared in pain, retreating slightly but not backing down.

The second lion saw its chance in that moment and lunged again, its jaws snapping inches from Acacius’s side. He pivoted, using the momentum to bring the hilt of his sword crashing down on the creature’s skull. The beast staggered but didn’t fall, its growl vibrating deep in its chest as it recovered.

Sand sprayed beneath their feet as Acacius moved with a dancer’s precision, his eyes never leaving the predators. Already, he was tired, his muscles burning with the effort of keeping up with their relentless attacks, but he refused to falter.

The two lions regrouped, their instincts driving them to attack in unison. But then, the crowd changed. Voices could be heard from every corner chanting, “Acacius! Acacius! Acacius!”

Cecilia smiled at the sound, like a comforting symphony for her ears.

As if the sound upset the lions, they charged simultaneously, one from each side. Acacius acted on instinct, his mind sharp despite the chaos. He dropped into a roll beneath the first lion’s leap, its massive form flying over him as he came up swinging. The blade found its mark, plunging into the beast’s chest. It let out a final, guttural roar before collapsing in the sand.

The crowd erupted in cheers, but Acacius had no time to revel in the victory. The second lion roared in fury, its claws raking across his leg as it lashed out in a frenzy. He gritted his teeth against the pain, his movements slowing as blood seeped from the wound.

Cecilia saw the blood and nearly screamed, unable to tell from her seat if the wound was fatal. The final lion charged again, its massive jaws snapping at his throat. Acacius threw himself to the side, the sand beneath him slick with his blood, and thrust his sword upward in a desperate, final strike.

The blade pierced straight through the lion’s throat, and the beast let out a strangled cry before collapsing atop him. The arena fell silent for a moment, the crowd collectively holding their breath as the dust settled. Then, a thunderous cheer erupted, shaking the very walls of the Colosseum.

Acacius lay in the sand, his chest heaving, the weight of the second lion pressing down on him. He pushed it aside with a groan, rising to his feet on shaky legs. His armor was dented, his body battered and bleeding, but he was alive.

As he looked up toward the imperial box, his eyes sought Cecilia. She was standing, her face pale, her hands clutching the railing so tightly her knuckles were white. Their eyes met, and for a moment, the noise of the crowd faded.

Acacius gave her a faint, bloodied smile. Cecilia smiled back, letting out a sob of relief, he had done it. But her celebration was quickly cut short by Geta’s rage.

Geta rose from his seat, his expression thunderous. “Enough of this charade!” he bellowed, his voice cutting through the roaring crowd. The cheers faltered, replaced by a murmur of confusion and tension as the spectators turned their attention back to the imperial box.

Cecilia flinched as Geta’s hand slammed down on the armrest, his dark eyes blazing with fury. “You think this is a victory?” he sneered, his words directed at Acacius but loud enough for the crowd to hear. “This insolent dog defies me, and you cheer for him?”

The crowd fell into uneasy silence, the weight of Geta’s wrath palpable.

“Guards!” Geta snapped, his voice echoing through the arena. “Seize him! Let us see how well our hero fares in chains.”

“No!” Cecilia’s voice rang out before she could stop herself. All eyes turned to her, including Geta’s. His expression twisted with a mixture of amusement and suspicion.

“You promised him life, a second chance he survived this match. You cannot chain him.” She argued, not caring who heard.

“Little dove,” he said mockingly, his tone laced with venom. “Do you mourn for your pet? Or perhaps…” He leaned closer, his voice dropping to a dangerous whisper. “Perhaps there’s more to this bond than you let on.”

Cecilia straightened, her trembling hands betraying her outward composure. “I mourn for a man who has done nothing but serve Rome,” she said firmly, though her voice shook. “A man who has proven his worth in blood while you sit on your throne, tainting it with your cruelty.”

Gasps rippled through the crowd, and even Caracalla raised an eyebrow, a flicker of intrigue crossing his face. Geta’s face darkened further, and for a moment, it seemed as though he might strike her. Instead, he turned his ire back to Acacius, who still lay collecting himself in the sand of the arena.

“Bring him,” Geta ordered the guards, his voice cold. “And bring her as well. Let Rome witness what becomes of traitors who defy their emperor.”

Cecilia’s heart sank as the guards moved toward Acacius, their spears raised as they dragged him away from the crowd.

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pascalhowlett · 4 months ago

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Ethereal Chapter 8

A/N: I know this is slow burn BUT I SWEAR ITS ALMOST OVER HINT HINT!!

If you prefer to read on AO3, that can be found here!

Warnings: Mentions of r*pe, implied r*pe, graphic depictions of violence, major character death, smut

Pairing: Marcus Acacius x Original Female Character

This is Chapter 7! Find the rest of the chapters on my Tumblr here!

Word Count: 3.4k

“Unhand me!” Cecilia’s furious, yet scared voice echoed through the stone passageway, cutting through the growing chaos of the Colosseum. She writhed against the guards’ hold, her defiance radiating like a flame. “I am the Emperor's wife, and you will let me go!”

Her words reached the ears of Geta and Caracalla, who had just descended into the passage, their faces twisted in anger and disbelief. Valerius stood nearby, his dagger still clutched in his hand, a grim satisfaction resting over his expression.

“What is this?” Caracalla demanded, his tone icy as his sharp gaze locked onto Cecilia.

“Why does the guard have my wife, Valerius?!” Geta yelled.

“She defies you, Emperor Geta!” Valerius said smoothly, bowing his head towards the brothers “I thought it prudent to detain her before her lies could spread further.”

Geta’s brow furrowed, his lips curling into a smirk as he approached Cecilia, his eyes glinting with malice. “Defies me, you say?” he drawled, circling her like a predator. “What an impressive act of courage—and stupidity. I thought you were learning to like your cage, little dove.”

Cecilia met his gaze with unyielding strength. “ I will not cower before you. You may hide behind lies and treachery, but the people will see you for what you are: a coward. A man who kills innocent soldiers and elders.”

Geta chuckled, though there was no humor in it. “You think your boldness will protect you?” He turned to Caracalla. “Brother, what shall we do with her?”

Caracalla’s jaw tightened as he studied her. “She’s not entirely wrong. Your acts have made us look like a villain.” He glanced at Valerius, his tone clipped. “You should have thought this through before pulling a dagger.”

Valerius straightened, his confidence faltering under Caracalla’s scrutiny. “She was calling for Acacius, my lord. The crowd could turn at any moment. I acted to prevent chaos.”

Caracalla sneered. “Calling for Acacius, you say?”

“Take her to the palace,” Geta suggested, his tone growing sharper. “Let her stew while we finish this business with Acacius. We’ll deal with her later.”

Cecilia’s eyes blazed with fury. “You think you can silence me? The truth will come out, no matter what you do.”

“Enough,” Caracalla snapped. He gestured to the guards. “Gag her if she continues, but don’t harm her. Not yet.”

The guards nodded, tightening their grip on Cecilia as they began to drag her away. Her eyes darted toward the arena, desperation and determination mingling in her expression.

Caracalla and Geta turned their attention back to Valerius.

“You’ve made a mess of things,” Caracalla said coldly to him.

“I can fix it,” Valerius insisted, though his voice lacked its usual confidence.

“You’d better,” Geta said with a sneer. “Because if you can’t, I’ll see to it that you take the fall instead of us.”

The three men shared a tense silence before turning their attention to the distant sound of the roaring crowd, where Acacius’s voice could still be heard, rallying the people.

“Please,” Cecilia began to beg the guards, “please, if you are soldiers of General Acacius, you will unhand me.”

The men hesitated, their grip on her arms faltering as her plea struck a chord. The name of their commander was a powerful one—Acacius had a reputation not only for his skill in battle but also for his fairness and loyalty to his men.

One of the guards, a younger soldier with uncertainty etched across his face, glanced at his companion. “What if she speaks the truth?” he murmured, his voice barely audible.

“Enough,” barked the older guard, his jaw set. “Our orders come from the council, not Acacius. Do not let her words confuse you.”

“But Acacius is an honorable man,” Cecilia pressed, her voice rising. “You know this. Would he stand by while innocent men are executed for the whims of a corrupt council? Would he let me—a woman he trusts—be treated like this?”

The younger guard faltered further, his gaze dropping to the ground as doubt flickered in his eyes.

“Think of your oath,” Cecilia urged, her tone insistent. “You swore to protect Rome, to follow a leader who fights for justice. Acacius fights for the people, for you. Can you say the same of those who ordered you to do this?”

“Silence her!” the older guard snapped, his face reddening as his authority was challenged. He tightened his grip, his knuckles whitening.

Cecilia winced but refused to back down. “You know what’s right,” she said, locking eyes with the younger guard. “Please. Help me.”

For a moment, the younger soldier hesitated, his internal conflict clear. He opened his mouth as if to speak but was cut off by the sound of heavy footsteps echoing down the corridor.

Valerius appeared, his expression dark and impatient. “What is this delay?” he demanded, his voice sharp. “You two are useless, I will make sure she has a front seat for the show.”

Cecilia’s heart sank as she was dragged forward, and shoved into Valerius’ grip. She caught the younger soldier’s eyes one last time. A flicker of something—regret, perhaps—shone there before he turned away.

Valerius leaned into her as he took her towards the center of the arena, his voice a low growl. “Nice try, Cecilia. But Acacius isn’t here to save you. You’re alone now.”

The crowd’s roar echoed through the Colosseum, an unrelenting wave of sound that threatened to drown out all thought. Acacius stood at the edge of the arena, his hand resting on the hilt of his sword as he scanned the stands for any sign of support—or betrayal.

But then his gaze locked onto the procession entering the arena’s center, and his heart lurched. Cecilia…

Her hair shimmered in the sunlight, and though her hands were bound, her posture was upright, defiant. She walked with measured steps beside Valerius, who held her arm in a tight grip.

Acacius felt a surge of fury and panic. He knew this was a deliberate move—a calculated effort to dismantle him. Valerius was parading her in front of the crowd, making her a symbol of rebellion to turn the people against him.

The crowd quieted slightly as they noticed the group approaching the center. Murmurs rippled through the stands, the name "Cecilia" or “The Empress” passing from lip to lip.

Cecilia’s eyes searched the crowd, desperate and determined. When they found Acacius, they widened for a brief moment, her expression a mixture of relief and warning for him.

Valerius stepped forward, raising his voice to address the crowd. “Behold the conspirators who would seek to undermine the unity of Rome!” His words carried, smooth and practiced. “Emperor Geta’s wife has conspired with General Acacius”—he gestured to Acacius—“to sow discord among our people.”

The crowd’s murmur grew louder, some jeering, others questioning. Acacius clenched his jaw, his hand tightening around the hilt of his sword. His mind raced. But as his gaze lingered on Cecilia, he saw something in her eyes— a silent plea.

He couldn’t stand by.

Acacius took a step forward, his voice cutting through the chaos. “Enough!” he shouted, his tone firm and commanding. The crowd quieted, their eyes shifting to him.

“Empress Cecilia is no conspirator,” he continued, his voice steady despite the storm of emotions raging within him. “She is a voice of reason, a beacon of hope for those crushed by the corruption of the council. And these men—these five—are not criminals. They are pawns in a game of greed and power.”

Valerius turned sharply, his eyes narrowing. “You overstep, Acacius. Will you defy the council outright now, in front of Rome? Our emperors?”

Acacius took another step forward, his voice growing stronger. “I do not defy Rome. I defend it. From men like you.”

The crowd erupted, divided between cheers and cries of outrage.

Cecilia, standing tall beside Valerius, locked eyes with Acacius. In that moment, despite the chaos around them, she felt the connection between them—an understanding that neither of them would abandon the other, no matter the cost.

Valerius shoved her to Acacius as Geta joined him in the center of the arena with the five men, a glint of pure anger in his eyes.

Acacius caught Cecilia as she stumbled, steadying her trembling body with his strong arms. His grip was firm yet gentle, his touch grounding her as the chaos surged around them. Together, they stood at the center of the storm, their eyes locked on Valerius and Geta.

Geta’s smirk was a cruel slash across his face as he unsheathed his sword, the metallic ring of the blade slicing through the air. The crowd roared in anticipation, their bloodlust drowning out reason, their excitement rising to a fever pitch.

“No!” Cecilia’s voice rang out, raw with desperation. “No!”

She twisted in Acacius’s grasp, trying to lunge forward, but he held her back, his arms tightening around her. “Cecilia, don’t,” he said, his voice low and urgent. “They’ll use this against you.”

Tears streaked her face as she struggled, her voice trembling as she sobbed. “They can’t do this! They can’t win!”

“They won’t win,” Acacius murmured, his gaze fixed on Geta, who was now addressing the crowd, his sword raised high.

“These traitors,” Geta bellowed, his voice booming over the cheers as he pointed to the five men on their knees, “would have torn Rome apart with their lies and deceit! Today, we restore order and justice with their blood!”

Valerius stood beside him, his expression smug, his hands clasped as if he had already claimed victory. The five condemned men knelt, their heads bowed, their faces resigned. Manius Cato lifted his gaze briefly, meeting Cecilia’s tear-filled eyes. He smiled faintly, as if to reassure her.

The sight shattered something in her.

“No!” she cried again, her voice breaking. She turned to the crowd, her voice rising above the cacophony. “Is this your justice? Is this the Rome you want to live in—a Rome ruled by fear and treachery?”

Her words momentarily silenced some of the crowd, their jeers turning to murmurs.

Acacius continued to hold Cecilia back as she attempted to lunge forward. He raised his voice, powerful and commanding as he fought her in his grip. “These men are not traitors! They are scapegoats, sacrificed to protect the corruption that festers in the heart of the council!”

The crowd’s roars dulled into a heavy, uneasy murmur as Geta strode toward the kneeling men. The executioner's blade gleamed under the harsh sunlight, a merciless reflection of his intent.

“Enough!” Geta bellowed again, his voice filled with venom, his eyes locking on Acacius and Cecilia with a cold finality.

Cecilia’s legs gave out, and Acacius held her close, his arms a fortress around her trembling body. She sobbed into his chest, muffling the sound of her own cries as Geta moved to the first man in line.

“No, no, no…” she whispered, her fists clutching Acacius’s armor as though holding him tighter could make it stop.

Acacius stared ahead, his body tense as stone. His mind screamed for him to act, to throw himself into the fray, to save them, but he was frozen. Armed guards surrounded the arena, and any move against Geta would mean instant death for Cecilia, himself, and anyone who dared to side with them.

The sound of the blade cutting through flesh filled the air, followed by a heavy thud as the first man fell. Cecilia flinched violently, her sobs growing louder. “No!” she screamed, muffled against Acacius’s chest. “Please, stop! Someone stop him!”

The crowd stood silent now, the weight of the moment pressing down on them like a suffocating fog. A few turned away, unable to watch. Others murmured in discontent, their earlier bloodlust tempered by the growing realization of the brutality unfolding before them.

Manius Cato was next. He knelt with dignity, his head held high as Emperor Geta approached. He glanced at Cecilia one last time, his expression soft.

“Do not weep for me,” he said, his voice calm, a faint smile gracing his lips. “We die for a better Rome. Remember that.”

Cecilia cried out as the blade struck, and Acacius held her tighter, his own chest heaving with restrained rage and grief. By the time the final man fell, the arena felt hollow, the air thick with unspoken condemnation. Geta turned to the crowd, raising his bloodied sword triumphantly.

“Let this be a lesson to all!” he declared. “Betray Rome, and you will suffer the same fate!”

The crowd was eerily silent. The victory Geta sought to claim now felt tainted by General Acacius’ actions. Geta’s display served as a stark reminder of the depths to which the brothers would stoop to maintain control.

“And as for these two!” Geta’s voice cut through the heavy silence, his sword still dripping with the blood of the executed men. He pointed dramatically toward Cecilia and Acacius, who remained on the ground of the arena. Her arms remained wrapped tightly around Acacius, as if she could shield him from the horrors around them.

“Their fates,” Geta continued, his voice dripping with malice, “will be sealed another way.”

Acacius’s muscles tensed, and Cecilia clung to him, her wide, tear-filled eyes locking onto Geta’s twisted smile. Geta spread his arms wide, turning to address the crowd with theatrical flair. “Would you like to see the great General Acacius fight the gladiators?”

For a moment, there was silence, a collective intake of breath as the crowd processed his words. Then, like a storm breaking, the cheers erupted. The bloodthirsty mob roared in approval, their earlier unease drowned in their insatiable desire for spectacle.

Five men had been killed for no reason, yet they cheered.

Cecilia’s heart sank further as she heard the crowd chant, their voices a deafening wall of sound. She shook her head, her hands gripping Acacius’s arms. “No,” she whispered, her voice hoarse. “No, this can’t happen.”

Acacius exhaled slowly, his face grim but steady. He gently touched Cecilia’s cheek, forcing her to look at him. “Listen to me,” he said softly, his voice calm despite the chaos around them. “I will not let them hurt you. No matter what happens.”

“But you can’t fight them,” she said, her voice breaking. “You can’t win against the gladiators. They’ll—they’ll kill you…”

“I’ve faced worse odds,” he replied with a faint smile, though his eyes betrayed his own doubts.

Geta raised his hand, silencing the crowd. “Let it be known,” he declared, “that this is the price of defying Rome’s will. The General who dared stand against us will face his doom in the arena, like the traitor he is!”

Cecilia turned to the crowd, her voice rising in desperation. “Is this what you want?” she cried. “The death of a man who has served you, protected you? Can’t you see this is wrong?”

Her words barely reached the mob, their cheers drowning her out.

Valerius approached, his expression smug. “Save your breath, Empress,” he said mockingly. “The people have already spoken. And they demand blood.”

Acacius stood, pulling Cecilia up with him. He turned to Valerius, his eyes burning with quiet fury. “You forget, Valerius,” he said, his voice low and dangerous. “The people may cheer for blood now. But even mobs have memories. And they will remember who turned this arena into a graveyard.”

Valerius’s smirk faltered for a fraction of a second before he stepped back.

Guards surrounded Acacius, dragging him toward the center of the arena. Cecilia tried to follow, but two soldiers restrained her, holding her back as she screamed his name.

“Acacius! No!”

He looked back at her one last time, his expression filled with unspoken words. “It’s alright.” Acacius’ voice said. His voice was still so soothing as he tried to comfort her amidst absolute chaos. Then he turned, squaring his shoulders as he was taken away, the jeers and cheers of the crowd roaring in his ears.

Cecilia struggled against the iron grip of the guards as they dragged her away from the arena, her cries for Acacius swallowed by the deafening roar of the crowd. Her heart pounded in her chest, torn between fear for him and the growing dread of what awaited her.

Geta led the procession back to the palace, his expression cold and calculating as the sun began to set. The gleeful cruelty that had animated him moments before was now replaced with a chilling resolve. He said nothing as they entered their shared bedroom, but his silence was far more menacing than any shouted command.

The guards shoved her into the room, where Geta dismissed everyone with a wave of his hand. The doors slammed shut, leaving the two of them alone.

Cecilia straightened, her defiance flickering despite her fear. “You have no right,” she said, her voice trembling but firm. “You’ll answer for this, Geta. The people won’t stand for your tyranny. You killed good men…your own soldiers…”

Geta laughed, a hollow sound that echoed off the marble walls. “The people?” he said, stepping closer. “The same people who cheered for Acacius to be torn apart in the arena? Don’t be naive, Cecilia. The crowd is fickle, easily swayed by blood and spectacle. They will cheer for blood, no matter whose it is.”

He circled her like a predator, his piercing gaze making her skin crawl. “You, on the other hand, are a far more dangerous adversary. With your words, your compassion, you inspire loyalty. That makes you a threat—a threat I must manage.”

Cecilia trembled, meeting his gaze. She was beginning to question how much more she could take. “I will be your wife, I will stand beside you…” she said. “I will stay in this cage… but Rome will see the truth eventually. They will rise against you.”

Geta’s smirk widened as he stopped in front of her, his eyes gleaming with twisted amusement. “You misunderstand, little dove. I don’t need you to bow. I need you to break.”

He reached out, brushing a strand of hair from her face, his touch sending a shiver of revulsion down her spine. “You will stay here, under my watch, until you learn your place. If you refuse to cooperate…” His voice lowered, his tone dripping with menace. “…I will make Acacius’s suffering last as long as possible.”

Her heart sank, and her defiance faltered for a moment. Acacius. She had to conform, or he would face torture and pain. “Let me see him,” she said, “let me see Acacius once before he fights the gladiators.”

Geta’s smile vanished, replaced by a flicker of rage. He stepped back, clapping his hands sharply. “Let you see him?” he asked, “Why, little dove? To conspire one last time? To fuel his defiance with your tears?”

“No,” she whispered, her eyes downcast. “If you wish to break us both, give me this one mercy. I will do whatever you want, just let me see him one last time.”

Geta circled her, his footsteps echoing ominously in the cavernous chamber. He seemed to savor her request, his cruel grin returning. “You think mercy is something I grant?” He paused behind her, leaning in close enough that she could feel his breath. “What would you do for this, Cecilia? How far would you go to see him?”

She clenched her fists, her nails digging into her palms. “Anything,” she said, her voice firm despite the tears threatening to spill. “If it spares him further suffering, I will do whatever you ask.”

He laughed darkly, stepping around to face her again. “Anything. What a dangerous word.” He reached out, gripping her chin and tilting her face up to meet his gaze. “But you’re clever enough to know that, aren’t you?”

Cecilia stared at him, her fear battling with her resolve. She refused to let him see her falter. “Do we have a bargain?” she asked, her voice even.

Geta released her with a dismissive shove, turning away. “You’ll see him,” he said over his shoulder, his tone cold and detached. “But remember this, little dove: every word you speak to him, every glance you share, I will use to control him. To control you. Don’t make me regret this generosity. And do not forget…you are my wife. You are bound to me, no matter what.”

Cecilia’s breath caught, but she didn’t respond. She had won a sliver of hope, and she clung to it with all her might. Whatever Geta’s intentions, she would find a way to protect Acacius, even if it meant enduring Geta’s twisted games.

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pascalhowlett · 4 months ago

Text

Ethereal Chapter 7

A/N: I know this is slow burn kinda but I promise we are getting closer to the *spicy* stuff.

If you prefer to read on AO3, that can be found here!

Warnings: Mentions of r*pe, implied r*pe, graphic depictions of violence, major character death, smut

Pairing: Marcus Acacius x Original Female Character

This is Chapter 7! Find the rest of the chapters on my Tumblr here!

Word Count: 3.8k

Cecilia slipped through the side streets, her heart pounding as the Colosseum loomed ahead. The scroll she carried felt heavier than it should, a burden of truth. She kept her cloak drawn tightly around her and her hood over her face, avoiding the guards along with the watchful eyes of the crowd. She found it hard to believe people were already gathering for this, ready to watch people die.

As she approached the holding area where the condemned were kept, she froze. The five men sat together, their wrists bound, their expressions varying from fear to grim resolve. A lump formed in her throat as her gaze landed on Manius Cato, the oldest among them.

His weathered face bore the lines of a life lived with purpose. Despite the ropes binding him, he held himself with quiet dignity, his piercing eyes scanning the crowd with calm defiance.

As Cecilia stepped in front of each one, they bowed to her. “Please, do not bow,” she said, approaching each man and untying their wrists, “my husband is a killer. You owe me no allegiance, you are being wronged.”

The men seemed confused, but allowed her to unbind them, thanking her softly. Cecilia stepped closer to Manius Cato as she went to untie his wrists, her presence catching his attention. His gaze softened when he saw her—a young woman moving with determination through a sea of apathy.

“You shouldn’t be here, child,” he said gently, his voice low and steady.

“I had to come,” she whispered, glancing around to ensure they weren’t overheard. “I’m helping General Acacius. The people of Rome must not think of me as a killer due to my husband’s cynical actions.”

At the mention of the name, Cato’s expression shifted. A faint smile tugged at his lips, a glimmer of warmth amidst the despair. “Acacius,” he repeated, almost as if the name were a comfort. “Of course, it would be him.”

“He’s fighting for you, for all of you” Cecilia said quickly, her voice thick with emotion as she pointed to all five men, “We both are. This isn’t over yet.”

Cato tilted his head, studying her with a mix of curiosity and admiration. “And what has that stubborn General done to earn your loyalty?”

She hesitated, unsure how to put her feelings into words. Her complicated, neverending admiration for him was confusing. “He believes in what’s right,” she said finally. “He’d give everything to save you and the others. He’s… he’s good.”

Cato chuckled softly, a sound that carried a hint of sadness. “Good? General Acacius is more than good, my dear. He’s the kind of man who sees the cracks in this world and tries to fill them with his own strength, no matter the cost to himself.” He paused, his eyes growing distant. “When I served on the council, I watched him lead his men with a heart that refused to harden, no matter how much the world tried to break it. That’s rare.”

Cecilia’s chest tightened at his words. Hearing someone else speak of Acacius’ strength and resilience made tears well in her eyes. “He blames himself for this,” she said quietly. “For not seeing this coming.”

Cato sighed, his gaze turning toward the horizon. “That sounds like him. But he’s wrong. This isn’t his fault. It’s the fault of those who twist loyalty and justice into weapons.” He turned back to her, his expression solemn. “Tell him that, if you can. He needs to hear it.”

“I will,” she promised, her voice trembling as a tear rolled down her cheek.

Cato nodded, a faint smile returning. “You care for him,” he observed, his tone gentle.

“I…” Cecilia faltered, unsure of how to respond. His words were the confirmation she needed.

She did indeed care for Acacius.

She’d been too overwhelmed to think much of it, but now, the weight of his observation settled over her. It finally felt tangible…his words rang true. She leaned against the cool stone wall next to Cato, her heart pounding not from fear but from something deeper, something that had been building inside her ever since Acacius had stepped into her life.

Care for him? The words felt too simple, too small to contain the depth of what she was starting to feel. She thought of his quiet strength, the way his voice softened when he spoke to her, the intensity in his eyes when he promised to protect the innocent, when he touched her. Acacius was a man of contradictions—fierce and gentle, unyielding and kind. And somewhere along the way, she had stopped seeing him as just an ally.

Cecilia exhaled shakily, brushing a hand through her hair at the realization. The thought terrified her as much as it emboldened her, the feeling stronger than anything she had once felt for Atticus. She wasn’t sure when it had happened—perhaps it was in the alcove when he’d first trusted her with the truth, or when her anger had melted into a rare smile as he called her brave. But now, there was no denying it.

Acacius meant more to her than she’d ever intended.

The realization was startling and overwhelming, but it wasn’t unwelcome. Despite everything, despite the danger that surrounded them, she felt a flicker of hope. She smiled, giving a small nod as she agreed with Cato’s words. Cato had been right—Acacius needed someone to believe in him, someone who could help him see the light when the world grew dark.

And maybe… she needed him, too.

Cato’s smile grew, a touch of mischief in his eyes despite the weight of the moment. “Good. He’ll need someone like you in the days to come. Someone who can remind him of the man he is when the darkness overwhelms him. He may be strong, but he gets into his own head...he is his own worst enemy.”

The sound of the crowd grew louder, a grim reminder of the limited time they had. Cecilia’s throat tightened as she realized she might never see this man again.

“Hold on,” she said urgently, clutching his hand. “We’re going to stop this. I promise.”

Cato’s gaze softened, his grip tightening ever so slightly. “If anyone can, it’s Acacius. And you, my lady. You have my allegiance.”

Her heart ached as she stepped back, more tears slipping down her cheeks. With one last glance, she turned and hurried toward the entrance where Acacius had said they’d meet.

Manius Cato watched her go, a flicker of hope in his eyes. Despite the fear, despite the looming shadow of death, he allowed himself to believe—for just a moment—that justice might still prevail. The other men watched her as well, admiring her bravery.

The eastern side of the Colosseum was bustling with guards and merchants, the chaos of the event spilling into the streets. Cecilia slipped through the throng, her heart hammering in her chest as she scanned the faces around her. She pulled her cloak tight, once again trying to stay as hidden as possible. The sun bore down on the stone arches, casting long shadows that offered little comfort.

Finally, she spotted him. Acacius stood near a column, half-concealed in the shadow of a pillar. His arms were crossed, his posture tense as he watched the crowd with sharp, calculating eyes. He was looking for her, and his posture did not relax until his eyes landed on her.

“Cecilia,” he murmured, stepping toward her. His hand reached out instinctively, brushing her arm as if to assure himself she was real. “Are you alright?”

She nodded, her breath catching at the concern in his eyes. “I spoke to Manius Cato,” she said, her voice trembling. “He… he knows what we’re doing. He believes in you…in us.”

Acacius’s jaw tightened, and he looked away, his gaze falling to the ground. “Cato’s a better man than most,” he said quietly. “He shouldn’t be in this.”

“No, he shouldn’t,” she agreed, her voice firm. “None of them should. And we’re going to make sure they walk out of here alive. I untied them… I could not bear to see them bound like animals.”

He looked back at her, his dark eyes searching hers. “You’re braver than I ever gave you credit for,” he said softly. “Coming here, facing this with me…you are the strongest woman I have ever met.”

She reached into her cloak, pulling out the scroll. “Valerius will act once you rally the crowd. He’ll present the evidence to the council’s allies. But you have to hold their attention long enough for him to get there.”

Acacius took the scroll, his fingers brushing hers. “This is our only chance,” he said, his voice heavy with the weight of the moment. “If I fail—”

“You won’t,” she interrupted, her tone fierce. “The people need to see the truth, and they’ll listen to you.”

For a moment, he said nothing, simply holding her gaze.

The ache to touch her now was louder than ever, but he could not. Especially in a public place. He thought about that for a moment. If he were to pursue her, he would be engaging with a married woman. With the Emperor’s wife.

Why could he not bring himself to care? The idea only excited him.

He brushed those thoughts away as he nodded, tucking the scroll into his cloak. “Stay close,” he said. “If something goes wrong—”

“Nothing will,” she cut him off again, her determination unshaken. “You worry too much, General.”

A faint smile ghosted across his lips, and he reached out, briefly brushing a strand of hair from her face. “You have more faith in me than I deserve,” he said, his voice almost a whisper.

She swallowed the lump in her throat, unwilling to let herself falter. “Then prove me right,” she said, her eyes steady on his.

Acacius straightened, the weight of his responsibility settling on his shoulders. “Stay close,” he repeated, his tone now all business. “When the time comes, I’ll need you to help guide the crowd toward Valerius’s evidence. Trust no one but him.”

She nodded, her hands clenching into fists at her sides. “Be careful,” she said, the words carrying all the emotion she couldn’t bring herself to say aloud. “I must go let Geta see me first.”

With a final glance, Acacius nodded and disappeared into the throng, his cloak billowing behind him. Cecilia watched him go, her heart pounding as she whispered a silent prayer.

Please, let this work.

Cecilia slipped through the crowd, her heart pounding with each step closer to the private viewing platform where Geta reclined. She quickly threw the cloak away, revealing her silk gowns. The brothers sat in the lap of luxury, surrounded by attendants and sycophants eager to curry favor. But their body language—rigid postures, clenched jaws, and the occasional sharp gesture—revealed their true intent.

She paused just out of sight, inhaling deeply to steady herself. If she wanted to help Acacius and ensure the plan’s success, she had to keep Geta distracted and calm. Anything less could spell disaster.

Gathering her courage, she stepped into the open, weaving her way toward him with measured grace.

“Cecilia,” Geta said, his tone dripping with surprise as she approached. He leaned back in his gilded chair, his dark eyes flicking over her with barely concealed suspicion. “I didn’t expect to see you here, little dove. I thought you’d find these executions…distasteful.”

“I do,” she admitted, letting just enough vulnerability slip into her voice. “But I came to see you. You are my husband, I must stand beside you.”

Geta raised an eyebrow, clearly intrigued but wary. “To see me? How bold of you, considering you were missing from bed this morning.”

Her breath caught in her throat. Had they already been caught?

“I…was not feeling well this morning,” she said carefully, choosing her words like a soldier selecting weapons. “But I wanted to be with you. These events must be…exhausting, even for someone as composed as you.”

He smirked, clearly enjoying the flattery, though the tension in his shoulders didn’t fully dissipate. “They are,” he admitted. “Though it’s a necessary burden. Someone has to ensure order in this city, little dove.”

“Of course,” Cecilia said, stepping closer and lowering her voice. “But even the strongest leaders deserve a reprieve. Perhaps I could offer you some company?”

His eyes narrowed slightly, as if trying to decipher her motives. “And what would you gain from such a gesture, Cecilia?”

“Only your trust, my love,” she said, meeting his gaze without flinching. “In times like these, you need your partner. You’re a man of power, and power is most effective when it’s paired with love. I can offer you that.”

Geta leaned forward, the faintest glimmer of interest sparking in his eyes. “Little dove, you flatter me.”

“I am just being honest, your highness,” she replied, her tone steady as she sat next to him for a moment, pressing a soft kiss to his lips. The act made her sick, especially after her realization of her feelings for Acacius. But, she could not slip, not now, not when five lives were at stake.

For a moment, the noise of the crowd seemed to fade as Geta studied her. Then he gave a low chuckle, the tension in his posture easing slightly as he kissed her once more. “Very well, Cecilia. Stay by my side, perhaps you can make this ordeal a bit more…enjoyable for me later.”

She managed a polite smile, even as her mind raced. The longer she could keep him occupied, the more time Acacius would have to rally the crowd. “Anything you want, my love,” she said, sounding like a rehearsed poet, “Your wish is my command.”

As Geta turned his attention to the arena below, Cecilia took a steadying breath. She couldn’t afford a misstep—not here, not now. Stay focused, she told herself. This is for them.

For him.

Acacius stood just outside the Colosseum’s grand entrance, his heart pounding in time with the distant roar of the crowd. The scroll was tucked securely beneath his cloak, its weight a constant reminder of the task ahead. The faces of the five condemned men haunted him as they were brought to the center of the colosseum, their hope hanging precariously on the strength of his actions.

As he stepped into the light of the arena, the noise hit him like a wave—thousands of voices, cheering, jeering, calling for blood. His jaw tightened, and his hand brushed the hilt of his sword instinctively. But this wasn’t a battle of steel; it was a battle of words, of conviction.

The crowd’s attention shifted as Acacius climbed the steps to the central platform where the executions were to be announced. The herald faltered mid-sentence, his confusion evident as the commander approached unbidden.

“Acacius?” the herald hissed, his tone a mix of annoyance and fear. “What are you doing here? This is highly irregular—”

“Irregularity is the least of your concerns,” Acacius said coldly, his voice cutting through the noise like a blade. Without waiting for permission, he turned to face the crowd, his towering presence and commanding voice demanding their attention.

“Citizens of Rome!” he called, his voice echoing across the vast arena. The crowd quieted, curiosity overtaking their bloodlust.

Cecilia’s heart fluttered at the sight of him, standing tall in front of all of the people. Geta and Caracalla began to look confused.

“These men you see before you,” Acacius gestured to the five prisoners, their collars of chains glinting in the sun, “are not criminals. They are not traitors. They are scapegoats, condemned by those who wish to hide their own treachery behind false accusations.”

A murmur rippled through the crowd, growing louder as his words sank in.

Acacius reached into his cloak, pulling out the scroll with a deliberate motion. “Here,” he said, holding it aloft, “is the proof of their innocence. The orders for their deaths were issued not out of justice, but out of fear. Fear that their loyalty to Rome would expose the corruption at the heart of our council! Would you like to know who signed off on such plans?”

Gasps and shouts erupted from the stands, the crowd beginning to sway like a restless sea. From his position on the platform, Acacius scanned the faces below. He saw confusion, anger, and doubt—but also something else: a glimmer of hope.

“Emperor Geta,” he continued, his voice unwavering as he pointed to the box where Cecilia sat with Geta, “ He has ordered these innocent deaths. It is not justice. It is cowardice. And I will not stand by and let Rome be ruled by cowards.”

The crowd’s energy shifted, their voices rising in a chaotic blend of support and shock. Acacius knew he had only moments before the guards or council loyalists tried to silence him.

He turned his attention to the five men standing in the arena’s center.

“Rome sees you,” he said, his voice softer but no less resolute. “And Rome will not forget.”

In the opulent box overlooking the Colosseum, Caracalla stood with his arms crossed, his face a mask of barely contained fury as Acacius addressed the crowd. His younger brother, Geta, sat in a gilded chair, his fingers drumming against the armrest as the muffled roar of the crowd reached them. The tension between the brothers was palpable, a storm brewing beneath the surface.

“You gave that order without consulting me?!” Caracalla yelled, his voice deadly. His eyes burned with anger as he turned to face Geta.

“It was necessary,” Geta replied smoothly, though a flicker of unease crossed his features as he relinquished Cecilia’s hand he was once holding. “Those men were dangerous, their loyalty uncertain. Rome needs strength, not dissenters in its ranks.”

“Strength?” Caracalla’s tone sharpened. “Or an excuse to eliminate those who opposed you in the council? I am not blind, Geta. I may be harsh, but I am not blind.”

Geta stood, his posture defensive. “You speak of unity, but you refuse to make the hard decisions. Someone has to act for the good of Rome, even if it means getting their hands dirty.”

Caracalla stepped closer, his imposing frame casting a shadow over his brother. “If I didn’t know better, I’d think you were angling to eliminate me next.”

“Perhaps I will, brother,” Geta hissed, “Perhaps we could prevent any further…conflict that way.”

Caracalla’s face darkened further, his fists clenching at his sides.

Geta’s expression turned cold, but a flicker of panic danced in his eyes as he pointed to Acacius. “That insubordinate fool. This wasn’t supposed to happen. He wasn’t supposed to know.”

Caracalla whirled on him, his voice sharp. “You’re the one who created this mess. Now it’s threatening to spill over. If the people turn against us—”

“They won’t,” Geta interrupted, his voice rising. “We control the guards, the council. Acacius is one man, and even he can’t stand against Rome’s will.”

“Rome’s will?” Caracalla spat. “Or yours?” He paused, glancing toward the arena. The crowd’s roar had shifted, an unsettling mixture of anger and fervor. “We need to act. Now.”

Geta hesitated, his mind racing. “We’ll send in the Praetorian Guard,” he said finally. “Silence him before he turns the mob into a riot.”

Caracalla shook his head, his jaw tightening. “No. If we send the guard in now, we’ll confirm his accusations. The people will see us as tyrants.”

“Then what do you suggest?” Geta demanded, his voice shaking.

Caracalla straightened, his expression grim. “We confront him ourselves. If Acacius wants to play the hero, we’ll make sure he answers for it publicly. But this ends today.”

He strode toward the door, his every movement exuding authority. After a moment’s hesitation, Geta followed, his face pale but resolute.

Cecilia caught sight of the imperial brothers descending the steps toward the arena, their faces etched with fury. The crowd’s fervor was growing, the tension in the air thick enough to choke her. She darted through the throng, her heart racing as she calculated her next move.

“Caracalla! Geta!” she called, her voice cutting through the din. She stepped in front of her husband, gently placing her hand on his chest.

Both brothers halted, their heads snapping toward her. Caracalla’s expression darkened with suspicion, while Geta’s flickered with something closer to intrigue.

“You,” Caracalla said to her, his tone sharp. “What could you possibly want now?”

“Do not fall for this,” she said, pitching her voice low as she glanced around for eavesdroppers. “If you confront Acacius now, you’ll be walking into a trap.”

Geta narrowed his eyes. “A trap? Speak clearly, little dove. What do you know?”

She stepped closer, lowering her voice further as she weaved her intricate lie. “The crowd is restless. If you enter that arena with accusations and force, they’ll turn against you. Acacius has planted seeds of doubt, and the people are desperate for someone to blame. If you act too rashly, it could spark rebellion. You may have the highest power, but hundreds of citizens could kill you within a moment’s notice.”

Caracalla’s eyes flicked toward the arena, his brow furrowing. “You think I fear the mob?” he said, though his tone carried an edge of doubt.

“You should,” Cecilia said bluntly, her boldness surprising even herself. “But if you let me speak with Acacius, I can diffuse this before it spirals out of control.”

Geta smirked, his gaze raking over her. “And why would you risk yourself for him, Cecilia? Is it loyalty? Or something more?”

“That’s irrelevant,” she shot back, her voice firm. “Do you want this resolved or not?”

Caracalla exchanged a look with Geta, the tension between them palpable. Finally, Caracalla gave a curt nod. “Fine. You have your chance. But if you fail…” He let the threat hang in the air, cold and unmistakable.

Cecilia turned, her pulse pounding as she made her way toward the arena. She hoped the extra time would allow Acacius to solidify his position with the crowd—or for Valerius to present the council’s corruption to their allies.

But as she descended into the arena’s shadowed passageways, she stopped short. Standing at the edge of the chaos was Valerius, his expression unreadable.

“Valerius,” she said, relief washing over her. “You must hurry—”

“Hurry? I’ve come to see this farce end, this beautiful spectacle…” he interrupted, his voice cold.

Her stomach dropped as she noticed the way he avoided her gaze, his hand resting lightly on the hilt of his dagger.

“What are you doing? Speak.” she demanded.

Valerius stepped closer, his tone low and dangerous. “You think I’d risk everything for a mere General’s rebellion? Acacius is a liability, and so are you. The council will reward me for stopping this more so than you ever could.”

The betrayal hit her in a panic. She realized that now Acacius was in grave danger. “You said you wanted to fight for justice,” she whispered, “You said your allegiance was to me.”He sneered. “Justice is whatever keeps Rome standing. Acacius’s idealism…your idealism… will destroy us all.”

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pascalhowlett · 4 months ago

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Ethereal Chapter 6

A/N: SORRY FOR THE LATE UPDATE LIFE GOT IN THE WAY :/ There is SO MUCH MORE from where this came from! I know this is slow burn kinda but I promise we are getting closer to the *spicy* stuff.

If you prefer to read on AO3, that can be found here!

Warnings: Mentions of r*pe, implied r*pe, graphic depictions of violence, major character death, smut

Pairing: Marcus Acacius x Original Female Character

This is Chapter 6! Find the rest of the chapters on my Tumblr here!

Word Count: 3k -ish

At dawn, Acacius led Cecilia to the library that was attached to the palace. The morning light spilled softly through the corridors, but instead of escorting her to the usual alcove, he brought her there.

“The orders for the day—the documents—should be on the scribe’s desk,” Acacius explained.

“Where is that?” Cecilia asked as they paused their footsteps outside of the library entrance.

“In the corner, with the scrolls,” he replied, glancing around warily. “You must go alone. It will look suspicious if I’m seen inside.”

“Why would it be suspicious for you to be in the library?” she asked, frowning.

Acacius hesitated, his expression hardening for a moment. “Because I’m not meant to handle such matters. My place is elsewhere, and questions would follow. Yours, however, is less constrained—use that to your advantage.”

Cecilia studied him for a moment, her frown deepening as unease settled over her. Still, she nodded, stepping toward the grand oak doors of the library. Acacius lingered just out of sight, his posture rigid, as though he were ready to attack anyone who dared to hurt her.

The library was silent, the kind of stillness that only indicated trouble. Shelves towered around her, their contents a treasure trove of knowledge and recent decrees. The faint scent of parchment and ink hung in the air, but it did little to soothe her.

A fire should strike this place, she thought, Rome could start anew.

She moved quickly, her steps muffled as she winded down the different aisles of books. The scribe’s desk was easy to spot in the far corner, a cluster of scrolls and papers spread out haphazardly. Cecilia hesitated, her eyes flicking toward the door as though expecting someone to burst in. When the silence held, she forced herself forward.

Her fingers skimmed over the papers, her pulse quickening as she searched for anything bearing the signature of her cynical husband. Finally, her hand stilled on a scroll sealed with wax, the names on the paper ironically written in red ink. Gaius Tiberius, Quintus Publius, Aulus Servius, Caius Nero, Manius Cato. Five innocent men signed away to death…just to make a statement.

She slipped the scroll underneath her gown, her movements quick but shaky. For a moment, she paused, ears straining for any sound beyond her panicked breathing. Satisfied, she turned and began retracing her steps toward the exit. Her pace was measured, her nerves taut like a bowstring. The door loomed closer, the hallway beyond promising a return to relative safety—

A creak.

Cecilia froze, leaning against a shelf as she caught herself. She held her breath, her ears straining. The sound came again, soft but distinct, from deeper within the library. She glanced over her shoulder, her heart hammering. Was someone else there, hidden among the shelves? Or was her mind conjuring shadows out of fear?

Shaking her head, she made a beeline for the door and gripped the handle, pulling the door open just enough to slip out. Acacius was waiting, his eyes scanning her face.

“Do you have it?” He asked in a low whisper.

She nodded, keeping her voice steady despite her unease. “No one was inside. But I heard... something.”

Acacius stiffened, his gaze darting toward the library. “We need to move. Now.”

“Five men,” she said as they reached the alcove, her voice steady but laced with urgency. “Five men will die today if we don’t stop this.”

Acacius took the scroll from her trembling hands. His fingers were rough against the delicate parchment, and his expression darkened as his eyes scanned the names:

Gaius Tiberius, Quintus Publius, Aulus Servius, Caius Nero, Manius Cato.

She saw the moment the meaning of those names sank in, his demeanor changing to one of pure rage. His shoulders tensed, and his breath came out in a sharp exhale. His hand clenched the scroll so tightly the wax seal cracked and fell away. When he spoke, his voice was low, as if restraining himself from a deeper reaction.

“Three of these are my men,” he said, his tone sharper than she had ever heard. “Men who’ve served loyally, with honor. And the other two…” His jaw tightened as he turned away, pacing in the small space. “Elders. Respected men who dared to challenge the council’s growing corruption. This isn’t justice—it’s slaughter.”

Cecilia sat heavily on the stone bench, overwhelmed by the weight of his words. She pressed a hand to her forehead, her voice barely above a whisper. “Why? I do not understand…why these men?”

“To send a message.” He stopped pacing, sitting next to her and holding his head in his hands. “The soldiers are expendable to them, scapegoats to spread fear. The elders? Their deaths will silence any who might follow their example. The elders, they trained me, made me who I am today…”

She looked at him, startled by the intensity of his anger. His face was a mask of fury, but his eyes betrayed something deeper—grief. She’d seen Acacius upset with calculated actions, but she realized his rage was a weapon as sharp as any blade. This was different, heavier than anything she had seen from him before.

“You blame yourself,” she said softly, the guilt practically seeping through his skin.

He stiffened, his gaze snapping to hers. “Of course I do. They’re my men, Cecilia. I should have seen this coming. I should have protected them.”

Cecilia scooted closer to him. The anger radiating off him was palpable, but she placed a hand on his arm, her touch light. “This is not your fault. They just want to kill anyone to make a statement.”

For a moment, he said nothing, his jaw clenching. He could not bring himself to look at anything but the floor beneath him. Then, slowly, he exhaled, his shoulders slumping. When he looked at her again, the rage was still there, but it was tempered by her gentle touch, her soft caress.

“I don’t want to fail them,” he said, his voice quiet now. “Or you.”

“You won’t,” she said firmly. “You could never fail me. We will do this together.”

His gaze softened, and for a fleeting moment, she saw the man beneath the soldier—the one who had risked everything to protect those he cared about. “You’re braver than most soldiers I’ve known,” he said, his lips quivering into the faintest hint of a smile.

Cecilia let out a breath she hadn’t realized she was holding, her own lips twitching upward despite the gravity of their situation. “I don’t know if that’s bravery or recklessness,” she said lightly, trying to ease the tension that still hung between them.

“Sometimes,” Acacius said, his voice low but warm, “there’s no difference.”

She blinked at him, startled by the unexpected tenderness in his tone. He looked at her as though trying to memorize her face, as if this moment might be their last. He noticed the dimples when she smiled, the way her soft brown hair curled at the edges as they cascaded to her shoulders. She was breathtaking to him. Her cheeks were still a rosy red, his words clearly having an effect on her.

“You don’t have to say that for me,” she murmured, her voice barely audible.

“I’m not saying it for you,” he replied, stepping closer. “I’m saying it because it’s true. I’ve seen fear break the strongest of men. You feel it, and yet you stand. That’s not recklessness, Cecilia. That’s courage.”

Her breath hitched, the sincerity in his words cutting through her defenses like a blade. For all his strength, there was a vulnerability in him that made her chest ache.

“And you?” she asked, her voice trembling. “What about your courage?”

He looked away, the flicker of a smile fading as he shook his head. “Courage doesn’t stop the people you care about from dying.”

His words hung in the air, heavy and unrelenting. Cecilia reached for his hand without thinking, her fingers brushing his. “No, but it’s the only thing that gives them a chance to live. Your courage has saved countless lives before, and it will today as well.”

Acacius stilled, her touch anchoring him. He gave a short nod, his hand tightening briefly over hers as their fingers laced.

“We’ll give them that chance,” he said. “Together.”

She nodded, confidence building within her. His touch made her feel fearless. They didn’t have the luxury of dwelling on unspoken fears or unacknowledged feelings. Time was slipping away, and five lives depended on them.

His loving gaze was quickly replaced by a solemn determination. His composure was slowly returning from his previous fit of rage. “I will take the scroll with me to the colosseum and show it to the people prior to the execution.”

“That’s risky,” she said, “what if they discover it is gone?”

“They will,” he admitted, but a small, almost mischievous smile flickered across his lips. “Which is why we’re not going to let them pin it on me—or either of us.”

Her brow furrowed. “What do you mean?”

Acacius began pacing as he let go of her hand. She automatically ached for his touch once more, but his mind was clearly racing as he pieced together a plan. “The scroll alone won’t be enough. We’ll need the crowd on our side, but we can’t rely on their outrage alone. We need someone within the council—or close to it—who can verify the authenticity.”

“Not a traitor,” Acacius said. “A sympathizer. There are still a few who believe in justice, even if they’ve been too afraid to act. I know someone who might help, he works directly with my soldiers.”

Cecilia was unsure, and not as quick to trust as the General. “And you trust this person?”

“Enough to know they want the council’s corruption to end as much as we do.” He turned to her, his gaze steady. “I need you to deliver the scroll to them. I can’t be seen leaving the Colosseum before the executions, and if they trace it back to me, this will all fall apart. You can move through the city without drawing suspicion.” He hesitated, his voice softening. “And because I trust you.”

Her cheeks warmed, but she quickly shook off the distraction. “Where will you be while I’m doing this?”

“At the Colosseum, preparing the crowd, making sure the Emperors are distracted,” he said. “If I can sway them before the executions, it will be easier.”

“Tell me who to find, and I will do it.” She said.

Acacius pulled her close, his hand resting briefly on her waist. “Near the south end of the palace. A merchant named Valerius. He deals in armor, but his loyalty lies with the people.”

“I’ll find him,” she promised, tucking the scroll safely back beneath her gown.

“Be careful,” he said, rubbing the small of her back, “If anything happens to you—”

“Nothing will happen,” she interrupted, a faint smile playing on her lips. “We don’t have room for failure, remember?”

He smirked, the weight between them lifting slightly. “I’ll see you at the east end of the Colosseum. And Cecilia—thank you.”

“Thank you, General” she said, her eyes brushing over his soft, delicate lips. Acacius noticed her glance, his heart skipping a beat despite the impending doom around them.

His heart skipped at the sincerity in his words, but he nodded. “Acacius,” he corrected her, “call me Acacius.”

“Acacius,” she said, smiling once more before turning on her foot and heading out of the alcove. As they parted ways, Cecilia couldn’t help but glance back at him. His anger still simmered beneath the surface, but it was clear that he’d harness it, turning it into the resolve they both needed to see this through.

As she disappeared into the palace, Acacius stood for a moment, his gaze lingering on the spot where she’d been standing, the smell of her sweet perfume still heavy in the air.

He wasn’t about to let five innocent men—or the woman who had become his partner in this fight—die for no reason.

Cecilia quickly dressed into her cloaks and left towards the south end of the palace. The south market was alive with activity, despite the early hour. Merchants called out their wares, their voices blending into a chaotic symphony of bartering and haggling. Cecilia pulled her cloak tighter, her eyes scanning the bustling square for the armor merchant Acacius had mentioned.

Valerius. A name spoken with trust, yet tied to danger.

She spotted the small building near the edge of the square, draped with metal pieces of armor, shiny silvers, brilliant golds, and soft red cloaks to compliment them. A stout man with a thick beard stood behind the facade of armor, his hands working with an open flame as she approached. Taking a deep breath, Cecilia stood in front of him, her posture friendly but guarded. She waited until he turned from the open flame to begin speaking.

“Valerius?” she asked, her voice low.

The man’s hands as he placed the tools he was holding on a table nearby. His green eyes flicked to her, sharp and assessing as he realized exactly who she was. “My lady…Empress Cecilia,” he bowed, making her cringe inwardly.

“Please, do not bow,” she told him, “I am just a woman, consider me a friend.” She hesitated, then pulled the scroll from her cloak, careful to keep it concealed as she held it toward him. “I was sent by Acacius. He said you could help.”

At the mention of Acacius’s name, Valerius’s expression hardened. He glanced around, as if he was worried they were being watched. He then leaned closer. “You must be careful saying that name out loud here,” he muttered. “Follow me.”

Before she could respond, he had grabbed her wrist and disappeared behind his building, lifting a heavy curtain that concealed a narrow doorway. Cecilia hesitated only a moment before ducking through.

The small room behind the stall was dimly lit, its air thick with the scent burning fire and casting irons. Valerius stood by the curtain, as if he was worried someone would try to walk in.

“Show me,” he demanded, his voice low but urgent.

Cecilia unfurled the scroll, holding it out so he could see the names listed there. As his eyes scanned the parchment, his expression shifted—from curiosity to anger, then to something heavier. “They mean to execute them?” he asked, his voice barely above a whisper.

She nodded. “At the Colosseum. Emperor Geta…my husband… signed away on these orders. Acacius believes the brothers want to make an example of them. He thought you might be able to help expose the truth.”

Valerius exhaled sharply, his hand running over his beard. “This… this could change everything. But it’s dangerous. If they catch wind of this, it won’t just be me they come for.”

“I know,” Cecilia said. “But if we do nothing, five innocent men will die. Acacius is preparing to rally the crowd at the Colosseum. If you help him step forward with this evidence, he believes we can stop the executions.”

Valerius studied her for a long moment, his sharp gaze searching her face. “You’re not a soldier,” he said finally. “Why are you risking your life for this? Why are you turning against your husband?”

“Emperor Geta is not my husband by choice… and because it’s the right thing to do,” she said simply. “I trust Acacius, I believe he can fix what these brothers have broken.”

The corners of Valerius’s mouth lifted slightly, though it wasn’t quite a smile. “General Acacius. That man has a way of inspiring loyalty, doesn’t he?”

Cecilia chuckled at that as she nodded, clutching the scroll tightly. “Will you help us?”

Valerius hesitated, then gave a short nod. “I’ll do what I can. Meet me at the east entrance of the Colosseum just before the executions. I’ll need to find someone within the council willing to back this claim.”

“Thank you,” she said, relief washing over her.

“Don’t thank me yet,” Valerius replied grimly. “This will only work if Acacius can hold the crowd’s attention long enough for me to act. Tell him to be ready.”

“I will,” she said, putting the scroll away, “I will also ensure you are compensated for your efforts.”

Valerius thanked her once more before she pulled the hood of her cloak back over her head, vanishing into the bustling crowd.

The Colosseum loomed like a beast against the morning sky, its towering arches casting long shadows over the bustling crowds. Acacius stood near the main entrance, his cloak drawn tightly around him to conceal his face. The roar of distant cheers echoed through the stone structure, a grim reminder of the bloodlust that had drawn the people here today.

He attempted to remain hidden in the shadows, his jaw tightening as he steeled himself for what was to come. The names on the scroll burned in his mind, each one a life he was determined to save.

And yet, even as he surveyed the crowd, his thoughts drifted to Cecilia.

He could still feel the faint brush of her fingers against his hand, the quiet resolve in her voice when she’d insisted on standing by him. Her courage had caught him off guard, piercing through the armor he’d built around himself. She was no soldier, no seasoned warrior hardened by years of battle—but in her determination, she was every bit his equal.

A part of him hated sending her into the city alone. He wanted to go with her, protect her from anything she may face. The thought of her walking into danger twisted his gut. But, he knew she could handle herself, she had survived being married to a bloodthirsty killer.

If something happened to her…

He shook his head, forcing the thought away. He couldn’t afford to lose focus, not now, not when he felt his entire army’s lives were at stake. Cecilia would succeed—she had to.

Still, as he moved through the crowd, his gaze flickered toward the horizon, half-expecting to see her weaving through the throng, returning to him with the reassurance he didn’t dare voice aloud. The din of the Colosseum pulled him back to the present. Spectators jostled for position near the gates, eager for the executions to begin.

If he could sway even a fraction of them, their combined voices could drown out the brothers’ authority. But he would need the perfect moment—and the right words. This wasn’t just about saving the five men condemned to die; it was about exposing the corruption that had poisoned Rome. He knew he must remind these people that they had power, too.

Acacius exhaled, steadying himself as he saw the five men, tied up and thrown to the ground like animals to the slaughter.

Gaius Tiberius, the youngest of them, barely more than a boy, stared at the ground, his shoulders trembling as he tried and failed to maintain some semblance of composure. Acacius’s chest tightened. He had trained Gaius himself, watched him grow from an eager recruit into a disciplined soldier. The boy had once spoken of a family waiting for him in the countryside—a mother and two younger sisters who depended on his service to survive.

Quintus Publius and Aulus Servius stood side by side, their expressions grim but resolute. They were seasoned veterans, men who had followed Acacius into countless battles without question. Men who would do anything for the people of Rome, to serve a greater purpose. They didn’t deserve this. They had served with honor, their only crime being too loyal to question the council’s orders.

Caius Nero, a man well into his years, stood stoically despite the weight of his bonds. Acacius remembered how Nero had once defended him before the council, arguing for fairness and restraint when punishment was dealt. The man had always valued justice over blind obedience—a quality that had clearly made him a target.

And finally, Manius Cato. He was a former council elder whose calm wisdom had once guided the city through crises. A man whose words knew no limits when it came to saving his people. Now, he stood among the condemned, his grayed hair and dignity bearing a stark contrast to the injustice he was facing.

These men were not criminals or traitors—they were scapegoats, lambs led to slaughter to satisfy the council’s insatiable hunger for control. Acacius’ anger wasn’t enough to dull the guilt gnawing at the edges of his resolve. He had led three of these men in battle, trained them, trusted them—and they had trusted him in return. And now they stood here, awaiting death, because he hadn’t seen the council’s betrayal coming.

He tried to push those thoughts aside as he scanned the crowd again, searching for the subtle signals he’d arranged with his allies. He would need their help to amplify his voice when the time came.

And somewhere in the back of his mind, he held onto the thought of Cecilia—her strength, her trust in him, and the promise they’d made to face this together.

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pascalhowlett · 4 months ago

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tumblr is best app u just talk to urself and ppl go yep so true bestie

192K notes · View notes

pascalhowlett · 4 months ago

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Ethereal Chapter 5

A/N: Things are starting to heat up here I promise!! I already have 15 chapters written, so there is SO MUCH MORE from where this came from!

If you prefer to read on AO3, that can be found here!

Warnings: Mentions of r*pe, implied r*pe, graphic depictions of violence, major character death, smut

Pairing: Marcus Acacius x Original Female Character

This is Chapter 5! Find the rest of the chapters on my Tumblr here!

Word Count: 3k -ish

It was the second day of the games. As they sat in the box above the roaring crowd, Cecilia felt herself already getting sick. She looked down at the arena, at the gladiators dressed in armor and hoisting up sharp swords. Half of them would be dead by the end of the day, their stories unfinished in the name of a pompous game.

She sat with Geta, holding his hand. “I am glad you have come around, little dove,” Geta said, “It pleases me to see you here by my side.”

Then, in a move as unexpected as it was unsettling, Geta leaned in and pressed a kiss to her cheek. Cecelia leaned into it as she spoke. “Anything for you, my love.”

Acacius thought he could have died at the sight. He hated this—the games, the cruelty, the facade. But most of all, he hated seeing her like this. He knew how Geta treated her behind a closed door, and it enraged him like no other.

The crowd’s roar swelled as one gladiator fell to his knees, blood pooling around him as it poured from his throat. Cecilia flinched despite her attempts to seem unphased, her hand tightening on the edge of her seat. Geta laughed at her reaction, but was delighted by the spectacle. “Magnificent, isn’t it?” he asked, his eyes gleaming with cold, sadistic pleasure.

She managed a weak smile, nodding. “Magnificent,” she echoed, though the word tasted bitter on her tongue. Her gaze flickered to Acacius, who caught her eye for the briefest of moments from the seat behind her. In that glance, she saw his concern, his unspoken apology for what she was witnessing. It grounded her for just a moment, just enough to where she could turn her gaze back to Emperor Geta.

"Tell me, little dove," Geta said, his voice honeyed but laced with steel, "what’s on that troubled little mind of yours?”

Cecilia's heart skipped at the question, and her mind raced for an answer that would appease him. She looked at his hand, reaching out and holding it to avoid eye contact. "The bravery of the gladiators," she said carefully. "To face such odds with unwavering courage—it’s… inspiring."

Geta chuckled and rolled his eyes, his grip tightening on her hand as though testing the sincerity of her action. "Inspiring, indeed," his voice dripped with sarcasm. "Though bravery alone is nothing without the will to conquer. A lesson for us all, wouldn't you agree?"

She nodded, the motion almost automatic. "Of course, your highness."

Geta leaned back, satisfied for the moment, “You are becoming smart, my little dove. The cage is beginning to suit you well.”

Like clockwork, General Acacius approached the two of them, offering a goblet of red wine to both of them. “The wine will not drink itself, your highness,” Acacius chuckled, attempting to lighten the mood for her.

Geta accepted the goblet with a nod, raising it toward Acacius in a mock toast before taking a sip. His expression softened briefly as the wine worked its way into his system. “You’ve always had a knack for finding the finest vintages, General,” he remarked, his tone almost jovial as he patted Acacius on the shoulder. Acacius cringed inwardly at the touch, but did his best to seem sincere.

Cecilia accepted her goblet from Acacius with a faint smile, though her hand trembled slightly as she raised it to her lips. She let the rich aroma of the wine fill her senses, hoping it would steady her nerves. Acacius caught the subtle tremor and gave her a barely perceptible nod, a silent reassurance that she was not as alone. Geta had been isolating her from everyone else.

“The games have drawn quite the crowd today,” Acacius said, his voice calm and measured. “The people seem eager. Though I do wonder—does such fervor serve you and your brother’s greater ambitions, your highness?”

Geta arched a brow, intrigued and shocked by the General’s sudden question. “And what ambitions do you think we have, Acacius?”

“The ambitions of a ruler who understands the delicate balance of fear and loyalty,” Acacius replied smoothly. “The games provide both in equal measure, yet one must always consider the limits. Push too far, and even the most devoted subjects may falter.”

Geta chuckled, though his eyes glinted with something sharper, as if he was aware of Acacius’ little game. “You speak as though you doubt our wisdom, General. We have led Rome for years without falter.”

“Never doubt, your highness,” Acacius replied with a slight bow. “Only caution. Surely an emperor as perceptive as yourself would value the perspective of those who serve him, unlike your brother.”

Cecilia watched the exchange closely, noting and admiring the subtle manipulation in Acacius’ words. Acacius' ability to tread the line between deference and challenge was masterful, especially when he mentioned Caracalla. She allowed herself to hope that his influence might feed into Geta’s delusions about his own brother.

“I’ll consider your counsel,” Geta said at last, taking another sip of his wine. “But fear not, Acacius. The people adore me, not my brother. Tomorrow’s display will only solidify their loyalty.”

Acacius nodded his head. “As you say, your highness.”

But Cecilia wondered. Tomorrow’s display? Geta loved to use the word tomorrow, to always have some sort of trick rolled up his sleeve. When would the games, the killing… end?

Geta turned his attention back to Cecilia, his expression softening once more. “You should learn from Acacius, my dove. He knows his place and speaks with respect. A valuable trait that you have not quite mastered yet.”

Cecilia actually gave Geta a genuine smile, his words about Acacius ringing true. “I’ll strive to be as wise as the General,” she said, stealing shared glimpses with Acacius once more.

Geta seemed satisfied with her response, leaning back in his seat with an air of triumph. “See that you do, little dove.”

As Geta’s conversation shifted back to a common quarrel with his brother, Cecilia stole another glance at Acacius. His expression was unreadable this time, but she sensed the tension beneath his composed exterior. The unspoken understanding between them was a lifeline for her, a fragile thread resembling her one true human connection.

Acacius once again had an empty chair next to him, just like yesterday. Cecilia pointed to the seat, as if asking if she could sit next to him. Acacius nodded, his inviting smile urging her to come fill the seat. She sat next to him, a slight chill going down her spine as her nose picked up the familiar scent of his cologne.

“My lady,” Acacius greeted, his tone low and deliberate, ensuring their conversation stayed between them.

“General,” she said, unable to fight the blush that spread across her pale features.

His sharp eyes studied her, as if checking on her. Then, he asked a deeper question. “Is it peace you seek, or simply an escape?”

Her lips tightened into a faint smile. “For whom? Me? Or the people?” she whispered, glancing at Geta, who was still absorbed in his loud camaraderie with the senators. “Both feel equally unattainable.”

Acacius’s expression softened, his body shifting towards her as he ached to touch her. “Peace is rarely given freely. Escape, on the other hand, is temporary. Which are you willing to fight for?”

Cecilia hesitated, her fingers dancing atop his for a brief moment as they rested on the arm of the chair. “It’s hard to say. When every path seems perilous, every choice feels like a death wish.”

The general leaned slightly closer, the scent of cedarwood and faint spices from his perfume calming her frayed nerves. “Every path will have its risks,” he murmured. “But every path will also have its moments. You simply need to spot them.”

She raised an eyebrow, her curiosity piqued despite her exhaustion. “Moments for what, exactly?”

“For serenity…for peace…” Acacius replied, leaning closer to her ear. “For happiness. The moments down a path aren’t always visible, but they are there, waiting for someone to find them.”

Her heart tightened at his words, the gravity of them making her feel as if she may actually have answers to all the questions spiraling in her mind. “And when I find these moments?” she asked, staring forward so Geta did not get suspicious of them, “What then? What do I do with them?”

“Then you choose whether to cherish them or build upon them,” Acacius said, admiring her beauty. “But either choice demands courage.”

Before she could respond, the crowd erupted into cheers, signaling the death of another gladiator. The roar echoed through the stands, drowning out her thoughts. Her eyes drifted to the arena, where a group of men dragged the lifeless gladiator out of the way for the next match. The sunlight glinted off the victor’s sword, a cruel reminder of the violence that had just unfolded before their eyes.

Cecilia tightened her grip on Acacius’ fingers, trying to suppress the nausea building within her. “And if courage isn’t enough?” she whispered, more to herself than to him.

Acacius’s voice was barely audible over the cries of the crowd, but its firmness cut through the noise. “Then you’ll find that it was never courage you lacked—it was belief in your own strength. Or perhaps, you were lacking the one who will help you find that courage.”

She turned her head toward him, startled by the certainty in his tone. His words lingered, weaving through her thoughts like threads in a tapestry. Even with the crowd roaring around them still, her eyes locked with his. Within Acacius’ eyes, she felt the faintest ember of desire and love pass through her veins.

She quickly diverted her eyes after a moment, letting go of her grip on Acacius’ hand. She knew that Geta would soon turn around and question their closeness. She had no choice but to bottle her emotions, yet she clung to the General’s words. If there were moments to be found, she would find them…with him. And when the time came, she would decide whether to cherish them, or build upon them.

“May I share something with you, General?” she asked softly as her eyes undeniably locked with his once more.

“Anything, my lady,” he said, his voice a soft purr.

“Your touch,” she looked down at his large hand that rested between them, “it comforts me.”

Acacius's gaze softened, and for a moment, the brave face he always wore seemed to slip. His eyes lingered on hers, the weight of her words showing in the softness of his brown doe eyes.

"My touch?" he questioned carefully, as though afraid to disturb the vulnerability in her admission. He looked down at his hand, now resting still beside hers. Slowly, almost tentatively, he turned it palm-up, inviting her to place her own within it. He quickly looked to make sure Geta was not watching, but either way, Acacius did not care.

"That is a comfort I do not take lightly," he said, his tone laced with gentle honesty. "To know that, even amidst all this chaos, I can offer you some solace—it humbles me, my lady."

Cecilia hesitated for only a moment before placing her hand in his. She noticed how much larger his hand was than hers. His warmth enveloped her as he laced their fingers together. She felt the strength in his grip, not overpowering but steady, like an anchor. Her heart quickened at the intimacy of the gesture, and she did not dare to pull away.

"Your strength has been a lifeline for me," she whispered. "In a world where I feel so powerless...so alone…"

Acacius's thumb brushed against the back of her hand, a gesture so small yet overflowing with unspoken emotion. His eyes searched hers, the weight of his own feelings threatening to bubble over into his next words. "You will never be alone, Cecilia," he murmured. "Not as long as I draw breath."

His words took her breath away. The silence that followed was thick with a tension neither of them dared to address fully. She squeezed his hand tighter before letting go, her fear of Geta preventing her from enjoying the moment for too long.

They did not notice the lingering eyes of Emperor Caracalla. From his vantage point, Caracalla watched the exchange between Cecilia and Acacius with ease. His goblet hung loosely in his hand, the wine untouched as his dark eyes narrowed. The subtle intimacy between them—the way her hand lingered in the General’s, the almost imperceptible softness in Acacius's gaze—did not escape him.

Caracalla leaned forward slightly in his chair. At first, he thought it was a trick of the dim torchlights in the box, but no. The warmth in their shared glance was unmistakable. It was purse love. Caracalla’s mind raced, his thoughts a mix of suspicion and possessive fury. The General? Of all people? It wasn’t merely jealousy—though that burned brightly—it was the audacity of it. The gall of a soldier to encroach upon a woman of royalty.

But then, his thoughts changed. This would destroy Geta. If this were something that would break his brother down, then who would he be to stop it? His lip curled, the sharp edges of his teeth visible as he fought the urge to act impulsively. His lips turned into a quiet smile. Any accusation or outburst would draw attention he wasn’t prepared to explain, not without undeniable proof. He knew this was a situation that he must use and play with carefully.

Let them have their moment, he thought darkly. It will make Geta’s downfall all the sweeter.

Later that night, as the moonlight filtered through the latticework of the palace, Cecilia lay awake beside a snoring Geta, his arm loosely draped around her. Her mind churned with fragments of plans, of dangerous fantasies she had fabricated with Acacius. She knew she wanted to act on them, but the how of them all was lost on her.

Her mind constantly replayed the intimate moment she had shared with Acacius at the games. The way he looked at her, the way his hand engulfed hers made her stomach flutter in a way she had not felt since she fell for Atticus all those years ago.

Atticus. She had not even thought of him as of late, her mind set now on the alluring General. She felt no remorse for her drifting thoughts, as she still was coping with the idea of Atticus’ dishonesty and betrayal. Acacius had yet to lie to her. She prayed to the gods that this would remain true. If he was lying, she was doomed.

But somehow, she knew Acacius was not a liar. Perhaps she had come to respect his status, or perhaps she was losing her mind. She tossed both ideas around in her mind, feeling as though her sanity was questionable in such a situation as this.

A soft knock at the door startled her. She froze, her heart pounding, but she quickly composed herself. Sliding out of bed silently, she slipped her nightgown on and crossed the room, her feet gently padding against the cool stone of the floor. She opened the door just enough to see who it was, the creaking sound of the hinges making her flinch in fear of waking Geta.

Acacius stood there in the doorway, his expression shadowed but resolute. He was dressed in his nighttime tunics, clearly losing sleep over whatever he had come to share. He thought she looked beautiful in the thin material of her night gown, her curves hugged in all of the right places.

Cecilia’s heart warmed at the sight of him. Even with the risk of Geta waking and seeing him, Acacius’ presence still made her feel excited and seen.

“General,” she whispered, her voice barely audible. “What are you doing here?”

“I needed to see you,” he said, his tone firm yet quiet. “We don’t have much time. There’s something you need to know.”

She stepped outside into the hallway, closing the door softly behind her. The tension in the corridor was palpable as they stood facing each other in the dim light. Was the tension that of romance, or foreseeable doom? That was the question.

Before he even began to speak, he embraced her, her body relaxing in his unrelenting grip. She was startled by the action, but enjoyed it and held him back nonetheless.

“What is it, Acacius?” she asked wearily, her voice trembling slightly as they backed away from one another.

Acacius hesitated, his gaze searching hers. “Tomorrow,” he began, his voice low. “Caracalla and Geta plan something more… elaborate than just the games. Something meant to solidify their rule through fear. I was just told by some of my soldiers.”

Cecilia’s brow furrowed, worry beginning to settle in every fiber of her being. “What do you mean?”

“They have ordered public executions,” Acacius said grimly. “Not just gladiators. Political dissidents, prisoners of war. Innocents, my men, paraded as traitors. They want to send a message to those who speak ill of them, those who dare to defy them.”

Her stomach turned, and she clutched the edge of a nearby table for support. “And you’re telling me this because…?”

“Because it’s an opportunity for me,” he said, stepping closer. “To expose them. To undermine their authority for killing innocent soldiers.”

Her eyes widened, the implications of his words sinking in. “You mean you wish to challenge them… openly?”

Acacius nodded. “But I need your help. You’re the only one who can get close enough to disrupt those plans from within.”

Cecilia hesitated, the weight of his request bringing an intense wave of anxiety. She quickly glanced back into the room where Geta lay oblivious, and then back at Acacius. Her mind raced, torn between fear and her unwavering dedication and admiration for the General.

“What do you need me to do?” she asked finally.

Acacius’s expression softened, and he reached out, placing a reassuring hand on her shoulder. “I’ll guide you. Together, we can find a means to an end. But you must trust me.”

“I do,” she said, the words slipping out before she could second-guess them. “I trust you…with my life, Acacius.”

The faintest smile touched his lips, and he nodded. “Then let’s begin.”

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