Smut. Fluff. Angst. Runaari style bitches🏳️‍🌈!

Janai second guesses her own words, and maybe her feelings toward a certain human General.

Atlas is undefeated. He entered the arena at thirteen and drowned in blood, victorious. He is a prince by blood, but who isn't in the Colosseum? The K'reche Tribes took over half of the great continent of Atora, and made use of the twelve royal bloodlines to breed powerful, Ether rich gladiators, batteries, and soldiers. Known to be cold and cruel, Atlas knew no warmth, held nothing dear, and lived a monotonous life within the sandstone walls of the Colosseum, under the unchanging desert sun. He was content, or so he thought until a new batch of gladiators were presented to him, and among them was an impossibly powerful individual. Yet impossibly gentle. Atlas's master tasked him with training this individual, to make him into a useful tool. But how could Atlas ever train a gentle doctor into a ruthless gladiator? His regime certainly didn't include harboring a dangerous, foolish attraction! (Note: Please do not read this story if you are sensitive towards topics around death, sexual abuse and rape. Sexual abuse is not described in detail, and not condoned.)