Asmund was sleeping restlessly, in the pitch dark of pre-dawn when he suddenly awoke to the feeling of flying. With a short yelp, Asmund sailed across the room and smacked into the wall near the door to his cell. He curled up, feeling like something was broken. Reality crashed down on him, and Titan's voice boomed out around the room.
"Up boy," Titan jovially thundered, grabbing the back of Asmund's rough, fabric kilt. "Time to start your training!" Asmund was unceremoniously carried along by Titan, while he comically struggled to get his legs under him. He only managed it when they'd gone more than a hundred yards- and he had a feeling it was only possible then because Titan no longer thought it amusing to let him flounder about like that. Titan led Asmund through what felt like a couple miles of tunnels- but just when Asmund finally had a spare moment to begin suspecting that Titan had been leading him around in circles or loops, they arived at an iron portcullis. The portcullis separated the tunnels where the gladiators lived from another area- one that seemed to be made of precisely cut stone blocks. It stood out to Asmund as an oddity, because the degree of precision in cutting and the quality of the construction would still have been fairly high on Earth.
While Asmund had stood, blankly staring at the area on the other side of the portcullis, Titan had spoken to somebody who called to others. By the time Asmund came back to himself, the portcullis was rising up into the ceiling, and four large, burly men joined them. They were kitted out in something resembling Rome's Lorica Segmentata armor- but made of a glossy black metal, with a hauberk of rivetted mail underneath, and a cobalt gambeson underneath that. The gauntlets they wore resembled the Germanic lobstered steel style. The greaves were in a similar, overlapping, segmented style, and included sabbatons, as well as plates that covered the knees. Their helmets were like Greek Illyrian helms, with rivetted mail coif under them. Like the hauberk and the rest of the armor, the coif was made of a strange, glossy metal. On top of their anachronistic mish-mash of armor, they carried large shields that looked eerily similar to the Drakekeeper's Shield from Dark Souls 2. In their hands were halberds, and they had slightly oversized falcatta on their hips.
The four men escorted the two gladiators down the hallway, and into a modest audience chamber. There they were met with an elderly man in dark robes, seated on a low, silk divan. He seemed jovial, but Asmund could see that there were at least another six guards in the room. If he could see that many, he thought it safe to assume there were many more he could not see. Titan knelt to the elderly man, and his hand roughly landed on Asmund's shoulder, forcing him to kneel as well.
"Your Excellency, this is the new one. As you ordered, I informed him of his situation, and I have tested his capabilities. He is suitable to be a Hopplomachus," Titan deferentially spoke in a very tamed rumble. "He has some sort of memory issue. I have spoken with him and it seems that he remembers some knowledge, but does not know how or why he knows what he does. Much common knowledge seems to be lost to him, and I believe he may have come from an extremely wealthy family. His skin is abnormally pale, and his skin softer than a woman's- even his hands. Besides which, I have never seen hair like his that is almost supernaturally soft and full. I believe the women will pay quite highly for nights with him if he lives long enough."
"Very good, Titan," the elderly man spoke, some warmth in his tone. "And you boy, what is your name?"
"I'm Asmund O'Cuchulain, sir," Asmund replied, then winced as Titan, whose hand was still on the back of his neck, squeezed and put pressure on him.
"Enough Titan," the elderly man spoke sternly. "He does not know better, and we must not punish ignorance but seek to dispel it with knowledge." The man then turned his head to look at Asmund. "I am the Emir, Akbar Aghili. I am of the royal bloodline, and I am also your owner. You will call me 'Excellency', as befits my station. If you show such disrespect again, you will be punished. Take your hand off him now Titan," his last words were back to the same warm tone he started with. Titan immediately complied.
"You are a man, created as any other man," Asmund spoke, an unfamiliar conviction and righteous fury filling him and overflowing into his tone as he stood and looked proudly at the Emir. "I cannot bow to any created being, and I will not confer the glory or titles of the Almighty Creator to any man. You are an Emir, very well, I will call you by your title as a prince in this kingdom of mortals. But only the Almighty will be honored by me, and only to the Almighty will I bend the knee or bow my head," by the end of this proclamation, which came from the very depths of Asmund's soul his voice was like thunder, shaking the furniture in the room with power. As he stood there, it seemed almost as if he were given wings of golden light, and clad in raiment of liquid, golden flame, while divine light shone down on him brighter than the sun. This illusion lasted several moment before it faded away, leaving only the calm-looking Asmund behind, wearing only a rough kilt. And then his eyes rolled up into his head, he stiffened like a board, and finally fell over backwards.
What nobody else knew, was that Asmund didn't choose to say these things, nor was he aware of the illusory wings and raiment. Rather, he had been panicking over the loss of control over his body as he stood up. He was, in fact, completely unaware of the words he spoke and the illusion that followed. Instead, he was in shock over what he heard right after his body stood up without his consent:
[System initialization complete. Activation imminent. Host will reboot in 60 seconds.]