I Enslaved The Goddess Who Summoned Me

Apollodorus stood frozen, his mind struggling to process the carnage before him. His body ached, but the pain was nothing compared to the horror that gripped his thoughts. Slowly, with the help of his men, he rose to his feet, his boots sinking into the thick, crimson-soaked sand. All around him lay the remains of his comrades—dozens of lifeless bodies sprawled across the bloodstained ground, their expressions frozen in the agony of their final moments.

Yet, among the dead, one figure was conspicuously absent.

His breath hitched as a dreadful realization took hold. His lips parted, and though he already knew the answer, the question escaped him in a whisper, almost involuntarily.

“Where is he?”

Silence hung heavy in the air before one of his men finally responded.

“Septimius took him away…”

The words sent a chill down Apollodorus’s spine. His hands clenched into trembling fists, his nails digging into his palms.

How?

How could this have happened?

Lucius Septimius had come out of nowhere, a specter in the chaos, tearing through their forces with an effortless brutality. And in the blink of an eye, he had stolen away one of Rome’s most powerful men—Gnaeus Pompeius Magnus, Pompey the Great.

Gone. Just like that.

“He must have followed us,” another soldier muttered, his voice tinged with unease.

Apollodorus’s head snapped toward him, his eyes narrowing. “Followed us? How? We were meticulous! We made certain no one was trailing us!” His voice rose, tinged with frustration, but deep inside, doubt gnawed at him.

“We may never know,” the soldier admitted grimly. “But it doesn’t matter now. Apollodorus, there’s more… The men we sent after Arsinoe—they never returned.”

A dark premonition settled over him. He could already guess their fate, but he needed to hear it.

“They’re dead,” a woman at his side confirmed, her voice calm yet cold. “Killed by Septimius probably.”

The words rang like a death knell in his ears.

“He was likely sent by the Pharaoh,” she continued, her sharp gaze meeting Apollodorus’s own. “Perhaps his mission was to retrieve Arsinoe… or perhaps to capture Pompey… or maybe both. Whatever the case, he succeeded.”

Apollodorus exhaled sharply through his nose, his jaw tightening. So that was it. Not only had they lost Pompey, but now Arsinoe was gone as well.

Cleopatra would be furious.

His teeth ground together audibly as frustration boiled inside him. Everything had crumbled so quickly. How had Septimius managed to orchestrate this so perfectly? Had they unknowingly paved the way for him?

“We led him straight to what he needed,” he muttered bitterly.

The woman beside him nodded solemnly. “I always knew Lucius Septimius was strong… but this?” She shook her head. “We were powerless against him. If we stand against him now, we’ll lose again. We need to find another way, Apollodorus.”

But he wasn’t listening.

A realization was dawning on him—one that made his blood run cold.

His eyes slowly turned toward a masked figure standing among the remaining men.

Lucius Septimius…

His mind reeled.

Don’t tell me…

A memory surfaced, clearer than ever—the image of a man he had ferried across the waters, a man who had introduced himself simply as “Lucius.”

Could it be…?

Could they be the same person?

It would explain everything—how Septimius had been able to strike so precisely, how he had known where to be and when.

But then, had the man really used his real name when introducing himself? Or had it all been part of a carefully woven deception? A calculated move from the very beginning?

Apollodorus’s stomach twisted.

Had he, without realizing it, been the one to bring disaster upon them all? Had he been the one to deliver Pompey straight into the hands of his enemy?

The weight of his mistake pressed down on him like an iron vice, suffocating and unrelenting.

This… was his doing.

Apollodorus felt a deep unease settle in his gut as he replayed the events in his mind.

That man Lucius had shown a keen interest in Pompey from the very beginning. Yet, at the time, Apollodorus had thought nothing of it. He had been so blind, so utterly oblivious to the signs.

Had Lucius truly been trying to hide his intentions?

Perhaps. But if so, he had done so masterfully.

Or maybe… he hadn’t needed to hide anything at all.

Now that Apollodorus thought about it, Lucius—had always carried himself with an air of unsettling calm. He had been too relaxed, too casual. A man with a hidden agenda would have shown at least some hesitation, some slip in his act. But there had been none. His nonchalance had made it impossible to suspect him—not as a spy, and certainly not as Lucius Septimius himself.

How had Apollodorus failed to see through it?

How had he allowed such a monumental mistake to happen right under his nose?

Yet there was no time to dwell on his failure.

The air inside the camp was thick with tension, and the atmosphere grew more chaotic by the minute. Panic had taken hold not just among Apollodorus’s men but also among Pompey’s remaining forces. The weight of their loss was suffocating. The Roman general—one of the greatest military minds of their time—was gone. Just like that.

Without Pompey, his men were left directionless, uncertain of what to do next. And Apollodorus? He had no words of guidance to offer them. There was nothing he could say that would change the reality of their situation.

In the end, Pompey’s men made their decision.

They climbed back onto their ships, their expressions a mix of grief and grim determination. They knew the risk was too great. If Lucius Septimius had come this far, then what were the chances that an army wasn’t following in his wake? The Pharaoh had set his pieces in motion, and the Romans had no intention of staying behind to be slaughtered.

Without hesitation, they chose to flee.

They would leave the Amun-Ra Empire behind, abandoning their fallen leader to whatever fate awaited him. There was no other choice.

Apollodorus and his men could only stand in silence, watching as the Roman ships drifted away, their sails vanishing into the horizon.

It was over.

A complete failure.

Even if they had demanded Pompey’s men to stay, to fight, what would have been the point? The battle was already lost.

For a long moment, no one spoke. The weight of their defeat pressed down on them like an invisible force, suffocating and unbearable.

Then, breaking the silence, one of Apollodorus’s men stepped forward, holding a small, rectangular object—a magical tablet.

The moment it was activated, a voice emerged from within.

“What happened?”

The sound sent a shiver through everyone present.

It was a voice of unparalleled beauty, smooth and charming, yet in this moment, it carried an unmistakable coldness.

It was Cleopatra.

Apollodorus inhaled sharply, bracing himself. He had no choice but to answer.

“Lucius Septimius,” he began, his voice low and measured. “One of Ptolemy’s men… He took Pompey.” His jaw tightened. “For all we know, he could already be dead.”

A chilling silence followed.

Apollodorus could almost feel Cleopatra’s emotions through the magical link—her quiet rage, her seething frustration. This was a devastating loss. The alliance with Pompey had been her greatest hope in reclaiming her empire, and now, because of his failure, it was gone.

He expected her to lash out. To curse his incompetence. To demand how he had allowed this to happen.

But instead, she remained calm.

Too calm.

Then, she spoke again.

“Join me in Alexandria.”

Apollodorus’s breath caught in his throat.

“A-Alexandria?!” His shock was evident in his tone.

Had he misheard her?

Alexandria was the last place Cleopatra should be! The city was filled with Ptolemy’s loyal guards, his spies lurking in every corner. If she set foot there, she would be captured within moments and dragged before her brother.

And this time… he might truly kill her.

His heart pounded in his chest.

Was she mad? Or did she have a plan?

The weight of uncertainty hung thick in the air as Apollodorus hesitated before speaking. His voice was laced with unease, his words heavy with warning.

“My Queen, this… this is far too dangerous. I do not know what you are thinking, but I must implore you—this is reckless,” he said, his concern unmistakable.

Cleopatra, however, remained unfazed. Her gaze was steady, her mind already set in motion. Apollodorus had known her for years, yet he could never fully predict her next move. He had ventured alone into Alexandria, risking his life in the shadows, because a direct approach had been impossible. The city was heavily fortified, and the slightest misstep could draw the attention of those who wished to see Cleopatra eliminated.

How could they possibly infiltrate without attracting too much attention? Even with all their careful planning, slipping past the watchful eyes of the Pharaoh’s guards and the Roman envoys would be no small feat. There was a reason he had always worked alone in these matters—espionage was best conducted in silence, in secrecy.

But Cleopatra? She had never been one to cower in the darkness.

Her voice, calm yet unwavering, broke through his hesitation.

“Julius Caesar will meet my brother at the palace.” A pause, deliberate and telling. “I will be there.”

Apollodorus stiffened. His breath hitched as realization struck him like a sudden gust of wind. His dark eyes widened, the implications of her words sinking in with undeniable clarity.

“No… My Queen, surely you are not thinking of—”

Cleopatra remained silent, but her expression spoke volumes. This was no reckless impulse; it was calculated risk, a last attempt at securing her throne.

They had once placed their faith in Pompey, believing him to be the easier target for an alliance, a potential key to solidifying her rule. But Pompey was gone, reduced to nothing more than a grim memory. That path had crumbled before them, and now only one option remained.

Julius Caesar.

Yet, this was an even greater gamble. The Roman general had been summoned by the empire to negotiate with her brother, the current Pharaoh. His presence in Alexandria meant that Rome still sought an alliance with the Amun-Ra Empire—not with her.

To approach him was to risk everything. If she failed, there would be no escape. No second chances. Death would be the only certainty.

And yet… Cleopatra’s resolve did not waver.

“Join me in Alexandria,” she commanded, her voice cutting through the tension like a blade. Then, without waiting for his response, she severed the connection.

Apollodorus stood frozen, the fading echoes of her words lingering in the air. A slow exhale left his lips as he closed his eyes.

There was no stopping her now.

They would go to Alexandria.

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