„The legend has it, Bellona herself appeared to the great Caesar in his dream before the battle of Pharsalus, leading his legions to the most glorious victory of all times."

Amusingly rolling her eyes at another tale from the arena master, the young girl dipped her two fingers into the scarlet paint and drew the last few lines over the dried golden layer on her forehead.

"When his troops finally stood over the bloody mash of corpses of their defeated enemy-", she heard his spellbinding voice, painting the macabre picture in the minds of countless spectators doubtlessly holding their breaths, hanging on every single word dancing from his mouth.

A short laugh escaped her lips as she returned her attention to her red-stained hands and the small bowl with the remaining paint. Without giving it much of a thought, she took the bowl and dipped the ends of her shoulder-long, golden-paint-covered hair into it. The shiny wet colour dripped from her straight, paint-glued strands over her bare shoulders onto the cold grey stone of the floor.

"But we all know that these are no legends because the Goddess lives, and she lives among us!" He celebratory concluded his storytelling time and the girl understood her cue. 

She threw one last look into the mirror. A layer of golden paint covered her face and hair like a second skin while the elegant scarlet pattern accentuated the mask-like appearance. The painted bracelets above her elbows echoed the design on her face, finishing her look. The boyish trousers and a simple piece of white cloth - now stained with red colour from her dripping hair - tightly wrapped around her chest, were the only clothes she wore. Ensured that her identity is buried under layers of paint, her bare feet took her to the gate, behind which laid the heart of the Tomb: The Arena.

"And she is here for you today to mercilessly fight anyone who dares to challenge her in a battle to the death." He left a dramatic pause to increase the impact of his next words. "Citizens of Venice, allow me to humbly present to you the legendary Goddess of the bloodiest war - Bellona, the undefeated champion of the Tomb of Orcus!"

His strong voice got swallowed by the roaring cheers from the viewers on the tribunes around the arena as the girl stepped into the lit sandy ground. Bathing in the ovation of the audience, her entire body vibrated in anticipation of the events of the night. Like a piece of cloth in water, she soaked in each passing moment as she has been waiting for weeks for this night to feel alive again.

As usually underestimated by her petite appearance, the first challenger didn't let to wait for himself and stepped into the arena sharing her spotlight. The crowd went wild. 

Ignoring the presence of her opponent, the girl let her eyes wander over the full tribunes, packed with easily a few hundred people from every social background. She couldn't help but notice the steady increase of spectators over the last couple of years. By now they all barely fit into the basement of the large watchmaker shop, that served as the cover for its underground activities. The guild would soon have to move its events to a bigger space.

A young boy stumbled into the centre of the circular field, presenting an ancient-looking vase to the arena master but she knew better that it was just a cheap replica for the show.

"As the tradition dictates," the old arena master raised his voice making the blood-thirsty audience fall silent. Despite his simple attire of white shirt and dark brown loosely fit trousers, he radiated nothing but pure authority, so no one dared to make a noise when he spoke. "The warriors are only allowed to use the weapon the Gods bless them with."

It was time to draw.

As the challenger had the right to draw first, Bellona used the moment to examine her opponent. Just as she expected, it was a tall bold man, graced with scars all over his body. After a while they all looked the same to her, so she didn't bother to even look at his face. Instead, she evaluated his physique: big heavy muscles and several old, healed burn-wounds over his arms indicated the physical work making her assume that a long time ago he used to be a smith. Most of the time, he was likely to rely on his fists or short knives, so she would make sure to keep him on distance, though she wagered, if he was to draw a heavy weapon like a hammer, it would make him a rather dangerous opponent. 

Her heart raced in excitement, waiting for him to finally get his weapon which, to her disappointment turned out to be her favourite dagger. She was sure he couldn't handle it.

Ironically, she drew the labrys – a heavy double-bitted axe, that believed to be one of the symbols of the actual Goddess.

How suitable, she grinned fiery, feeling the weight of the weapon in her hands as it sent the pure pulsing excitement rushing through her veins. In moments like this, it was as if the Goddess, whose name she made her own, possessed her body, even if she didn't believe in her existence.

Finally, the arena master assumed his spot on the balcony leaving the opponents facing each other in the arena. Without any further speeches, he raised his hand to satisfy every fighter, gambler, and spectator, allowing them to begin the fight. The crowd roared.

To her surprise, her opponent didn't make the first move instead, assuming the guard position and letting her attack first.

At least he's got nerves, she thought, storming forward while swinging her axe with both arms from her right side, giving it a larger distance to cross before landing its target. Anticipating her movements that were slowed down by the size of her weapon, the man quickly jumped back, holding his blade right where she meant to thrust her axe into his flesh. Using his advantage, he momentarily switched into attack mode, as he circled around her in a turn, letting his sharp dagger cut through the soft skin of her back like through butter. She gasped in surprise, but the pain didn't come.

Stunned by the pulsing blood in her ears, the roars of the crowd faded until she heard nothing but the steps of her opponent. Lightning-fast she swung her axe over her head, turned around facing the man and with all her force, dropped her weapon targeting his bare chest. And even though he didn't have enough time to dodge the strike, she yet was too slow. He stretched his arm, pushing his dagger between the labrys and his chest but the impact of the hurl was too strong, so while trying to absorb the shock, his blade ended up scratching his chest in a perfect horizontal line from one shoulder to another. Using his momentary disorientation, she kicked him off his feet to the sandy ground, where he landed on the back, dropping his dagger. She didn't hesitate, heaving her axe over her head for a final strike, but suddenly, a huge hand wrapped itself around her ankle, and a split second later, she felt the back of her head crashing onto the ground.

Now the pain kicked in as thousands of sand particles entered the fresh bleeding wound on her back.

She growled, trying to get back to her feet, but the heavy weight of her opponent pressed her down to the ground, now wrapping his hands around her neck. A bitter laugh suddenly escaped her lips as the random thought crossed her mind of how many times she found herself in this position over the last few years. With her eyes closed, she grabbed a handful of sand, throwing it into the man's face. Immediately his grip around her neck loosened, giving her the opportunity to throw him again on his back while simultaneously getting in the reach of his dagger. She picked up the weapon towering over him with its tip to his neck. The fight was over.

Steadying her breath, she waited a few seconds for him to process his situation. Then another few, giving him the chance to react. The silent challenge in his eyes spoke volumes but for some reason, she didn't give up on him, only slightly increasing the pressure on his neck, seemingly asking if he was sure this was the way he wanted to die. Eventually, the look in his eyes softened and reluctantly he raised his arm, accepting his defeat.

She lifted the dagger and turned round to the wild audience that demanded more blood. Luckily, the night just had started.

***

Before the first sunlight could touch the ground, Bellona sneaked out of the watchmaker shop, taking the darkest passages on her way home. Wrapped into a black hooded cloak, as she still looked like a nasty mess of sand, blood, and paint underneath, she tiredly dragged her feet through the empty alleys, blissfully inhaling the frosty night air.

It was almost the same way she took seven years ago when she was the hurt nine-year-old girl utterly convinced that her family hated her, and no one would even notice if one night she just disappeared. So, this was what she did.

Once everyone was asleep, she sneaked out through the servants' door and ran, leaving behind her family house. She didn't come far, as running away in winter was not the most brilliant idea, but she had to learn it the hard way. A heavy rain caught her on the way and despite her determination to get as far as possible, she had to find shelter for the night. This was the moment when she discovered the watchmaker shop, as it was the only building in the entire area where she could spot a few dim lights through the window. Tiny as she was, she slipped through the back door, unnoticed by the guards at the entrance. The thrilling sounds from the basement beckoned her curiosity, moving her little feet down the light wooden stairs. The tribunes were half empty, so she hid between the benches watching the fights in the arena until no one was left.

"Please teach me to fight," she approached the last winner insecurely when nobody else was in sight. It was a young man whose face and body seemed to belong to two different people. While his face remained flawless, his entire body was covered in old and fresh scars looking like a spiderweb.

The man smiled down at her. "How did you get down here, child? The Tomb of Orcus is really not a place for a little girl." He wanted to pick her up, but she stepped back. Tears of frustration pearled in her eyes as she was fed up always receiving the same reply no matter what she wanted. Holding them back, she decided she wouldn't take it anymore.

"I know what you are doing here is against the law," she stated confidently, thinking of how the man in front of her smashed the skull of his opponent under the cheerful roars of the crowd. And yet, for some strange reason, she wasn't terrified of him. A deep sense of calmness radiated from his presence that gave her the courage to continue her thought. "If you don't agree to teach me, I will bring my father here first thing in the morning. He is also in the council," she added the last part quickly to give her words more weight. As the young man remained silent curiously staring at the child, she glared back with all the sense of challenge she could put into her big green eyes.

"I will see you tomorrow night for the training then," he finally uttered in amusement. He probably thought she wouldn't show up. But she did. And despite all her scratches and bruises, she kept showing up night after night. It was only years later that she learned about the guild that ran the biggest underworld events in the city and his belonging to them.

With a shudder running over her wounded back, she jolted her head, trying to shake off her memory. Contently exhaling, she forced her thoughts toward the warm bathing that would clean her sandy cuts and loosen up her sore muscles. When she reached the servants' door, her loyal slave, and the only person in the world who knew about her nightly activities, waited for her at the entrance with a full bucket of water and some fresh bandaged to tend to her wounds, that she would hopefully be able to hide underneath her dresses, as it was usually the case.

Without losing a word, the slave girl stretched her arm, handing over a small, neatly folded piece of paper with elegant yet so familiar writing on it:

Giuseppina,
Please find me in the parlour before breakfast. We need to talk.
Good night,
Giulietta.

With a heavy heart, the girl sighed. It was time to shed off Bellona's skin and return to her daily life.