With her painstakingly constructed formation shattered, Klea found herself quickly cornered.
The pressure from Heracles was overwhelming—his sheer presence pressed down like a mountain. Dust flared beneath his boots as he closed in, one step at a time, mace gripped in calloused hands.
Klea retreated quickly, boots skidding across the marble arena floor. Her breaths came fast, labored, and when Heracles moved to close the distance, she suddenly threw both hands up.
"WAIT!" she shouted, her voice sharp but breathless.
Heracles halted mid-stride, muscles still tensed and eyes sharp as blades. His voice was gruff but curious. "Are you surrendering?"
Klea forced a smile through her panting. "I heard you're a great warrior. I'm asking if you'd allow a lady a moment to catch her breath."
The crowd murmured in surprise. Heracles frowned, his brow twitched as he stared down at her, unsure how to respond.
Klea didn't give him the chance.
