Prologue - The End of Tyranny 1.1

"What is your duty? To serve the Emperor's will! What is the Emperor's will? That we fight and die!"—chants from Warhammer 40,000 (videogame)

(Content Warning—this chapter contains scenes of graphic violence and gore, reader's discretion is advised.)

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Ides of January, 41 AD

The raw cry of—"Traitors!"—ripped through the torch-lit tunnel like a banshee’s wail.

“Die!”

SWISH

THRUST

“Urk—”

THUD

A body fell with a groan.

Lucius Aelius Sabinus, an elite protector of the Imperial family, stood over the fallen traitor, one of his sworn brothers.

With his gladius held in his left hand, he had delivered a swift wrath—leaving a gaping hole in the man’s chest.

Blood erupted—a crimson tide bursting forth like water from a shattered aqueduct—splattering on the shield in his right.

‘We both took the same oath,’ he gritted his teeth, his face twisting.

Killing a fellow brother left a bitter taste in his mouth.

Sacramentum militare—the Praetorian’s oath—demanded unwavering loyalty to their master’s command.

Never desert the service.

Face death rather than flee.

That was their irrevocable vow, etched in blood and honor.

A promise Lucius still held sacred, even as chaos surged around him.

‘I will not bring shame to my honor.' 

His eyes narrowed into a slit, his resolve hardening.

‘Like this disgraceful bunch!’

“Who is your master, you faithless dogs!” he roared, a battle-cry against his dishonorable former comrades.

He swung his gladius.

It flashed like a glittering serpent in the air, fangs bared.

Ready to devour any opponent that came close.

‘I would rather die than let any harm befall my true master!’ he chanted inside his head.

CLANG CLANG

Lucius sidestepped his enemy's awkward blow, his gladius a blur as it disarmed his attackers before they even realized their greatest mistake.

He had faced tougher challenges in the training arena with a blindfold on than this.

“Argh!”

Another enemy fell.

They weren’t on par with Lucius, whose prowess was widely known across the Roman Empire. 

This was a fact he wore like armor, along with his rank and pride.

His purple-dyed tunica militaris was the proof.

It spoke louder than any praise.

The golden scorpion, a brand of his undying allegiance, was emblazoned on his right sleeve, now soiled with blood.

'It felt heavy.'

A horsehair-crested helmet rested above his head, covering his sweaty black hair.

‘How did they become Praetorians with these garbage skills?’

The instructor in him wondered. 

‘No wonder they became traitors!’

CLANG CLANG

He struck his gladius into another betrayer—blood and guts spraying everywhere—painting the walls.

“Ahhh!”

Each clash of steel was followed by a deathly silence, broken only by his throaty, desperate fighting yells.

The gloomy tunnel they were in, beneath the Palatium—was supposed to be a secret passage meant to avoid overexcited citizens and lurking assassins.

Lucius never imagined that it would become a deathtrap set by his own Praetorian brothers—the disloyal bastards.

One of his sworn brother’s discarded wooden scabbard lay amid the sprawled bodies of the fallen like a broken promise, soaked in crimson.

‘Be proud! I’ll carry the torch of your loyalty!’

He and his group on duty were en route to the Circus Maximus, where they were to attend the Palatine Games.

But it was a set-up.

An ambush waiting to happen.

‘Was this the reason they told me to go on ahead?’ he gnashed his teeth at the betrayal, ‘Because they had different plans?'

'They were planning to kill us all along.’

Now only three stood against seven—he was one of the three.

It was a hopeless dance of death.

Of the three, only one was fighting.

Him.

Lucius.

His last ally, Aegillius—another Praetorian—was pinned behind him, locked in defense with no way out.

He held the line for their group's beating heart, their precious master, deflecting the attacks Lucius couldn't.

Yet, neither of them lost heart.

“Kill them all!” his master roared in a sweet voice from behind them.

‘It didn’t suit him at all,’ Lucius thought.

But that was all the encouragement he needed.

With his gladius firm in his grip, Lucius’ eyes burned with composed fury beneath his helmet.

He goaded his former comrades.

The traitorous scoundrels.

His voice was a rasped challenge.

“Come!” 

CLANG CLANG

“Aaah-aahhhh!”

Another cry—neither victory nor pain, but betrayal—answered his provocation.

One of the traitors, Titus, wearing bloodstained tunica militaris with a narrow purple stripe, rammed his heavy shield into Lucius, he was grinning.

The same grin he had last night, but now he knew what that meant.

‘He’s belittling me!’

It was an unnatural sight—Praetorian guards, who vowed to the same duty, turning on each other to the death.

Who was wrong?

And who was right?

Only the victor that would survive the day would know.

Using Titus' momentum against him, Lucius pressed his weight to his own shield.

His duty to serve and to protect had given him inhuman strength.

With gritted teeth and eyes blazing, a snarl tore from his throat, like a beast caged too long.

Shoving, clawing for an advantage.

He stood low on the ground.

His folded stance was wide.

His knees were solid.

His feet were like century-old columns, rooted in the ground.

Unshakable.

But it was a tough battle.

"Urgh—!"

Lucius sized up his enemy's monstrous frame—his gaze was sharp as he sought for an opening, no matter how small that could be.

But Titus' rigid guard and incredible strength was a known fact among the Praetorians.

‘Men like this don’t deserve a virtuous fight.’ 

He had to think fast. 

‘To defeat him, the only thing left to do is…’

His nose flared.

‘... to play dirty.’

He spat directly at Titus’ mocking eyes, making the ogre of a man blink in surprise.

‘Yes!!’

That was all Lucius needed but he hesitated…

“I want my father to be proud of me!” 

Titus' voice from a long time ago echoed in his ears, but he squashed it immediately.

‘No! Don’t be reluctant now! He’s a traitor!’ a growl left his throat.

He vigorously shoved forward, using the distraction—Titus still had one of his eyes closed.

In one swift motion, he slid his left arm below the shield, seizing the created opportunity to the fullest.

Then, he plunged his gladius upward, bypassing the traitor’s defense.

‘Your parents won’t be proud of you, goodbye!’ he gritted his teeth.

“Ahhhhhh!”

It went through.

The tip of the blade bit into the chin, passed through the mouth and went out at the top of the betrayer's head.

He drove it to the hilt, rage propelling his arm.

Blood and pieces of Titus' brain burst like a ripe pomegranate fruit.

‘Be more honorable in your next life!’ Lucius closed his eyes, Titus’ words still echoing in his mind.

“You know, I look up to you like I do with my father.”

‘Liar!’

“Ahh—!”

He earned himself an ear-splitting shriek of disbelief.

Then he yanked the blade free, and the rebel collapsed with a heavy thud on the ground.

Shields clattered on the stone with a clank.

The sound was swallowed by the tunnel’s oppressive silence.

He kicked the dead man’s chest aside with pure contempt, dirtying his sandals with accursed blood.

‘I can’t afford to go all sentimental now.’

This was a matter of life and death.

‘Duty before anything else!’ he chanted once more.

No time to breathe.

A coppery scent, thick and cloying, had become more prominent.

It mingled with the musty, earthy stench of the tunnel.

“You’ll pay for your treachery!” he declared.

His voice was a low growl, eyes glinting with cold resolve.

‘What made you break our sacred oath?’ he wondered.

He turned to meet the next attacker—there were three—his gladius at the ready.

Each parry, a silent question.

‘Why did you do this, Rufus?’

He met every clumsy strike with flawless precision.

‘I’m the one who trained you, Ateius.’

Knowing exactly how his enemies fight.

Familiar.

Nostalgic.

Fake.

‘I gave you that scar in your chin, Flaccus.’

His arms trembled.

He could still hear the playful laugh of the deserter in his ears.

His knees quivered, remembering just last night they all merrily drank wine and ate their fill.

Together.

‘You said, it was nothing… that it was only natural to get hurt in our line of duty.’ 

A bitter smile crossed his lips.

‘You said, we are family,’ he glared, his heart turning into stone.

Steel clashed.

Gladius to gladius.

Brutal.

Screams tore through the air, followed by dull thuds of bodies hitting the floor.

Three more enemies fell.

Their dying cries echoed through the confined space.

“We’re not the traitors here.”

Another man, wearing an eyepatch sneered—it was Sestius—countering Lucius' declaration.

Denying the truth.

“IT WAS YOU!”

The traitor growled, full of resentment.

A false statement.

Venomous and full of weight.

Only one way to find out.

CLANG—CLASH—CLANK!

The final clash—more vicious and suicidal.

An imperative.

CLANG! CLASH! THWACK! THUD! SHINK! SQUISH—!

Suddenly, a sharp pain tore through his back, it deepened, then twisted.

He tasted iron in his mouth, his ears were ringing, his body became heavy, everything seemed to be in slow motion.

“—?!”

He was unable to comprehend where it came from.

Dark liquid slowly blossomed on the purple on his chest.

It spread on his most prized possession—his proud Imperial uniform.

Warm.

Wet.

Sticky.

“Who—?” his question got cut off, his eyes widening, while Sestius grinned with blood dripping from his lips to his chin.

The traitor pulled his body forward, then whispered, "Who do you think?"

✦✦✦

INDEX FOR LATIN WORDS AND OTHER TERMS:

Praetorian—elite bodyguards of the Emperor and Imperial family

gladius—short steel sword

Sacramentum militare—the Praetorian’s oath (credits from Vegetius, a Roman writer)

tunica militaris—Praetorians Imperial uniform

Palatium—Imperial Palace

Circus maximus—a vast chariot stadium, long and oval shape, it was also used for other public spectacles like gladiator fights

Palatine Games—a public event that includes games and theatrical performances

**

DID YOU KNOW?

That Ancient Rome has three time period:

Roman Kingdom—founding and early days, ruled by kings (Rome's childhood)

Roman Republic—people overthrew the monarch, and was governed by elected officials called senators (Rome's young adulthood)

Roman Empire (my novel's timeline)—a period of centralized rule under an Emperor (Rome's adulthood)

And when you say Ancient Rome, you are mentioning Rome in history as a whole, but when you say Roman Empire, it is only a specific time period in history.