The night was calm, free of clouds. The moon was bright over the Empire, proof of Lady Diana's support. And still, Perseus Jackson could not sleep. Training was all he knew. It had been, ever since he was a little boy, back in Greece. His sea-green eyes were sharp as he eyed the straw dummy, his fingers flexing around the training sword in his hand, his sculpted muscles still as he waited...

And then, at once, he struck. A slash removed the dummy's left arm, while a second one cut straight through the stomach until it hit the metal pole underneath. The sixteen year old male sighed at the flimsiness of the training sword, dropping it onto the ground in dissatisfaction. 'Tomorrow...' He thought. 'Tomorrow, I'll hold a real sword.' The imitation sword was reasonable, he placated himself. After all, they wouldn't give a sword to an able-bodied slave, would they?

He laid down on the cot that was his bed, memories of his childhood flashing through his mind. Hours spent on the beaches in Delos, fresh bread with his mother, ripened fruit straight off of trees... Until the Romans had come. Greece had never had the largest population, or the most centralized government, both a result of the numerous mountain chains ripping through the region. The powerful Roman Legion had eaten the city-states for breakfast, much like how the Macedonians had nearly two centuries prior.

He remembered praying to Apollo, Delos' guardian, to see he and his mother safely through the raid. He was only answered halfway. He had nearly been killed alongside his mother's headless body, but one of the rougher soldiers had spoken to the others in Latin, which Perseus hadn't known at the time, and had said, "He will fight for me."

That had saved him from an execution, but life as a slave wasn't much better. For many years, he delivered letters between his Lord and his many mistresses, away from the sight of his Lady. Then, when he was ten and managed to acquire a knife, the soldier had decided to train him for the Colosseum instead... after disarming him and lashing him five times, naturally.

Perseus shivered, the cold breaking him out of his thoughts. He knew he only had a few hours left until the sun would rise, and his day of worthiness would begin. His eyes closed.

"Get up, boy," a voice growled, waking Perseus up. His eyes opened groggily to see his Lord standing at the doorway to his cell. To his right was the sword and dummy he had been hacking at the night prior. Quickly, he made his way out of the cot, blinking the weariness out of his gaze, careful not to show any weakness. Weaknesses were not allowed. In a way, Rome reminded him of the tales told of Sparta, where only the strongest men were able to fight.

"Put this on." The voice was absolute, unwavering. His Lord held out some bronze armor, which Perseus quickly slipped over his shoulders. "Follow me," he was beckoned, and so he did. In the hallway outside his cell, the man who had saved his life about a decade prior threatened to end it. "Try to run, and I will stop you. And trust me, I will take every single second possible, just so I can enjoy it." Perseus nodded in acceptance. He didn't plan on running, anyway.

Making their way out of the small house next to the Lord's manor, they quickly made their way to the bustling Roman streets. 'Land is power,' Percy thought, noting how all of the other people went out of their way to make sure they weren't too close to his Lord. They made their way to the Colosseum, a brilliant stadium that towered above most of the surrounding city. The sun, combined with the armor, was starting to make Perseus' tanned skin sizzle, and sweat started to pool on his forehead.

Finally, shade came as they descended the steps into the preparation room for the gladiators. Dozens of other slaves were already there, geared up, and ready. Two overseers stood watch in full body armor, battleaxes in resting position. His Lord sat Perseus down, before handing him a sword that was on his side. "This sword is a sword of legend. Hercules, your Greeks' Heracles, wielded this blade. Now, it rests in your hands."

Perseus looked down at the blade, its simplicity... enchanting to him. Anaklusmos was engraved into one side in Greek letters. "Riptide..." He murmured. He looked up at his Lord. "Thank you."

The man simply grunted in response, standing up and turning his back. "Do not disappoint me," he spoke, walking back up the stairs. Perseus stood up, testing the sword, finding it to be perfectly balanced. About three feet long, the blade was longer than his arm, but he could feel that its force would be carried throughout. A few swishes of the blade allowed it to cut through the air perfectly, but the overseers' glaring stopped him from testing it any longer.

The gate at the end of the tunnel started to open, and a few of the gladiators started to inch forward toward the light. "Congratulations, gladiators," one of the voices spoke from the back. Perseus turned back to the overseers, who had leveled their weapons, and started to inch towards the group, forcing them into the light. "Try to last a bit longer than you usually do."

Perseus set his face into a blank stare, holding Riptide with his right hand, his armor losing its weight as he stepped out into the scorching sands of the arena. He looked around at the thousands of cheering Romans, momentarily disgusted at how easily distracted they were from the terrors of Rome. A low growl brought his eyes back to the other side of the stadium, causing him to gulp. Dozens of various monsters were gathered. Sighing, he readied Riptide and braced himself for the coming onslaught, determined to keep his life.

A loud horn signified the start of the fight. Some of the gladiators hung back, while other, more foolish slaves ran forward and, although catching a few monsters with their blades, were quickly slain. Perseus opted to stay back, judging when the right moment to strike would be. With some gladiators already down, the numbers were looking something like eight gladiators to eighty monsters. Perseus wasn't sure how many he could take down, but he was confident that he was the strongest out of the whole group.

Some of the gladiators were more worn, more experienced, but they simply weren't as sharp as he was. And he was a Greek. His whole tactic was using the unexpected to his advantage. Another gladiator to his left got antsy, charged, took out a half dozen monsters, and ended up impaled on the shaft of a spear. Perseus shook his head in disappointment.

Suddenly, a round of arrows were shot. Only his quick reflexes saved him from death as he dropped underneath the arrow, and parried the blow of a monster who rushed him before stabbing the humanoid creature in the chest, hopefully where its heart was, turning it to dust. Two other gladiators were not quite so lucky, one dying from an arrow through the eye, another being knocked down and almost overwhelmed, but was helped up by another slave who killed the two monsters trying to nibble at his downed comrade.

The numbers came back to Perseus. 71 monsters to six fighters was nowhere near fair, but fairness was not the point of these games. They were to placate the citizens of Rome while they starved, penniless. Watching the less fortunate be eaten by monsters was apparently appealing enough. He defended himself from another four monsters, although one landed a blow to his chest that sliced through his armor like butter before he was able to decapitate it.

He cursed softly at the blood dripping through his torn armor and shirt underneath. Another arrow was shot at him, but Riptide slashed it out of the air. He breathed deeply to keep his breath under control. The other gladiators seemed to be a bit more triumphant than the already deceased ones, each fighting with two or three enemies. The man that had been knocked down by the arrow seemed to be struggling against three monsters, so the tanned slave bound over to him.

He shoulder bashed one of the monsters before stabbing it through the abdomen, his sword coming clean out of the other side before the monster disappeared into golden dust. The man whose life he had just saved only nodded in gratuity, although Perseus cared not. All that mattered was getting out alive. And, he noted as he stared at the other side of the arena, the Minotaur was a great hindrance to that plan.

Hello! Welcome to my newest fanfiction, The Roar of Destiny. This story will mainly feature a Percy that originates from the time of the Roman Empire, however not all of the story will take place then. This story is different from my other stories, because... drumroll, please... it will have an update schedule! Every week, I will be dropping a chapter between 1,000 to 2,000 words of content, either on Saturday or Sunday EST. I plan to keep this going for a year, and if I miss any updates, the next week will of course be a double update.

This will be my most updated story, although that does not mean I will be neglecting my other stories. If anything, I will be updating those more, too, because this will keep me in a writing mood.

Thank you, and farewell until next week for chapter two,

PJO Fan Power.