Chapter One: Legends Live

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Both men were thought to be dead, and each of them somehow clang onto life. The mighty war leader was brought to the mountains, which was supposed to be his final resting place. He let his eyes flood with the glow of his afterlife, welcomed by his loving and perished wife, Sura, and Spartacus, the Bringer of Rain, was spit back out. His mission was yet complete.

The warmth that was brought by the afterlife, the touch of Sura again, to feel as if all would be welcomed, was replaced by overwhelming pain. Spartacus bit down on his lip, in hope not to scream. With two spears going through the torso, the pain was great. Yet his brother, Agron, waited patiently. He wouldn't leave, but neither would Spartacus. They met gaze and Spartacus held on.

"I will not leave you, brother," Agron promised. However, he needed to give the people across the mountains, far enough away that the Empire wouldn't be able to follow.

"Go," Spartacus commanded.

Still Agron didn't go and waited. Night started to fall, and Spartacus had yet to lose all breath. Nasir waited patiently aside but Spartacus stared upward as rain pounded down from the sky. The Gods honored the Bringer of Rain again.

"Agron," Nasir spoke to his love, "we must leave."

"He is not dead yet."

"We will carry him with us."

Agron nodded, and his fellow living creatures bent down. They swarmed the almost-dead Spartacus and picked him up. It would be hard to carry Spartacus across lands such as the mountains, but their lives were dedicated for Spartacus. He saved them all from slavery. A grunt came from Spartacus, hating to be weak and hating the pain. He wished they would leave him for the afterlife. They walked on, and Spartacus stared into the thundering sky.

While, the other, the smooth and ever so handsome, gladiator Gannicus, fell to the crucifixion of the Roman Empire, to be strung up like an animal, to bake in the summer heat. He, too, was brought into the afterlife, welcomed by his brother and his lover. Gannicus was thrown out too, and the pain continued to push. Around him were screams of the others, the slaves turned warriors, but at least, which was Spartacus always said, they would die free men. Pain came from every living being. Romans still hung them up, women and men, even children that had been caught in the battle. However, even in death, Gannicus wasn't free. Yet he had more to atone for.

Gannicus waited for death again, with the searing pain and fiery heat. The sun faded, like Roman soldiers, who rode off into the sunset. He screamed to the Gods above him, praying for them to end it. They did not heed his call, which he swore. He never believed in the Gods before.

His dark eyes fell to the ground in front of him, where a person in large cloak stood, tall and wide-enough with strength. However, all features were covered up in Roman cloak. A sword slashed out, drenched in red blood, of fallen Romans. The figure was a fighter, but you didn't need to be too good at fighting when fighting Romans. He laughed at the thought, when the figure thought they were so great. Gannicus smiled at the cloaked figured, assuming Death had finally come for him. It hadn't.

"End it," Gannicus begged. He hated what his life had come to but the pain proved too much to bear. He finally understood what pain was like, to lose everything to death. "End this, please. Let me go to the afterlife."

Gannicus couldn't know for sure but the figure spoke, "You are not yet done."

The handle of the sword hit Gannicus over the head, and the blackness took him. He welcomed such a thing, any hope that he might have to the afterlife. Though he wished for his fallen brothers and his lover, he thought of Saxa, newly led to the afterlife as well.

Gannicus awoke a couple times while traveling, upon being on the back of a horse. His arms were locked around the figure, and he couldn't fully understand what he touched. He went back to the blackness.

The sun beat down on Gannicus as he stared forward. His wounds had been cauterized but he found it hard to work his hands. His body wouldn't move properly. He had been dropped in the mountains, near the bottom, as if the future was sought already. He stared up at the blue sky above him, because he truly wasn't in the afterlife.

"Gannicus!" a voice screeched.

Hands were upon him, female's from size and gentleness. The breeze blew her brown hair across. The sun touched her skin, when she was still pale. Sibyl waited above him. Her fingers entangled themselves in his hair.

"You live." Her voice was honey. "You live." Tears ran down her face, and he hated how she cried for him.

Agron dropped beside his gladiator brother. "We are truly blessed by the Gods. You live. Spartacus lives."

Gannicus reached to where Spartacus had been laid on the ground. His brother did live.

"How did you come here?" Agron asked.

"I know not." He paused. "There was a figure, a cloak. I was brought here."

"By who?"

Gannicus swallowed. "I know not."

His eyes wandered over to Sibyl, holding her close. His love was with him again. She was innocent still and kind. War hadn't tainted her yet. Then his eyes found something off in the shadows, the cloak of a large human. They sat upon a horse. Hallucination waited upon his mind, and then he wasn't the only one who saw the figure. All gazes turned to the figure, off in the distance. It wasn't Roman, but something scarier.

"Is that the figure?" Agron hissed, rising out his stance.

"Yes," Gannicus whispered.

Agron held his sword and shield, ready to fight. His gladiator instincts started to take over. Nasir appeared aside of him, ready to fight the figure. They were ready to fight an army by themselves. They would kill every last fucking Roman.

The figure disagreed with them. The figure pulled on the reigns of the horse and rode away, taking all the answers.

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