Copyright Disclaimer: Xena, Gabrielle and company are the sole property of MCA/Universal, Renaissance Pictures, Studios USA, and whoever else owns them. No copyright infringement was intended in the writing of this just for fun and not for profit piece of fan fiction.

Teaser: Xena has her hands full attempting to conquer Greece while dealing with treachery and deceit from within the ranks of her army. Haunted nightly by visions of a young village girl she met long ago, Xena struggles to discover the meaning of her dreams, and to find the girl named Gabrielle.

Timeline of this story is after the events of "Armageddon's Arrival", the first in the trilogy of stories. Part one of this story is the second installment of the series. I recommend you read the first story.

This is a Xena Conqueror Story, the plot is dark.

Language – A bit coarse in parts, not overly vulgar.

Artwork created by the supremely talented Aaron Wong. More of his fantastic art can be found on Deviant Art. .com search aaronwty or aaronwty

The quotes and some of the dialogue points between characters can be attributed to Shakespeare's the tragedy of Julius Caesar, my favorite play, which served as major inspiration for the story. More inspiration came from George Patton, Sun Tzu, and Star Trek.

Thank You to Karyn for taking the time to proofread this story and for helping me become a better writer.

To contact: schawnyboi

Vengeance of the Destroyer

Part I

Prologue

The old man forced himself to continue running toward Olynthus.

Abandoned by those who once promised loyalty, he was alone in the northern reaches of Greece. He had little time to think about it now; the trees of the forest dropped away to reveal a wide sloping clearing and at the bottom, Olynthus stood silhouetted against the sea. He had hoped to book passage on a ship bound for Ephesus.

The fates had turned against him, his war to save the Republic over. Why he continued to run was beyond the scope of rational thought, and his instinct for survival was driving him. Rational thought urged him to stop. His sons, his wife, now dead—such was the price of his involvement in Roman politics. Why run? What was there to run to? Why not just accept fate, accept his death? The exquisite freedom he could gain by death…

Behind him came the telltale sound of horses' hooves thundering across the open grasses. With grey hair whipping wildly, he chanced a look behind at his pursuers. His foot caught on an old root; the glance back had cost him and caused him to tumble. Hitting the ground, he feebly tried to crawl forward, his old body betraying him as his strength was all but spent.

Surrounded, a ring of triumphant scornful laughter sounded in his ears.

"Take him to Talmadeus!"

Chapter 1

From every balcony, every rooftop, and on the streets below, the rabble that was Rome cheered him with abandon.

A most noble chariot carried the victor of the Battle of Pharsalus into Rome. Drawn by four magnificent black Greek stallions, the new first citizen of Rome was welcomed by the plebeian masses. Men of his victorious legions held the people back, giving his procession access down Rome's cobblestone streets to the Forum, the very heart of the city. Pulled by his chariot, a bloodied warrior woman in chains struggled to stay on her feet. At times she faltered, her body then dragged over the rough cobblestones.

Men of his legions strode far ahead, their polished armor glinting in the bright Mediterranean sun. Behind them, all manner of dancers bobbed and weaved ahead of his chariot, exciting the crowd. Vestal Virgins reaching into baskets to throw rose petals in his path.

Trumpets blared upon his arrival at the Senate.

Ah, the Senate, he mused, the last vestige of Republican Rome.

"Ave Caesar!" the crowd roared, cheering him mindlessly, enthralled by the spectacle.

In gleaming armor of red and gold, Caesar stepped from the chariot, stopping to savor the magnificence of the moment, the sweaty, hooting mob that was the poor of Rome cheered 'til their voices grew hoarse.

Behind him, his chariot was guided away, the woman roughly pulled away with it. His men backed up on cue, allowing the crowds to run forward to the base of the steps leading up to the Roman Senate before their line reformed again.

Turning, Caesar strode gracefully up the marble steps, warily eyeing the assembled Senators as he did so.

The Senate, den of traitorous vipers! Many of them, through both flattering words and bags of gold, had lent support to the legions of Pompey in the Civil Wars. They would pay with far more than gold for their lack of allegiance to his cause.

He, not Pompeius, had brought Gaul forcibly under Roman control. While old Pompeius luxuriated in Rome, he, Julius Caesar, had fought to bring Britannia to heel.

When Pompey and the Senate ordered him home without his legions, Caesar knew he must take action or lose all his ventures.

Now he would allow the Senators to fawn and flatter with silver tongues pledging him their support.

Long ago, Caesar had found the allegiance of men to be like the shifting sands of the desert.

Except for…

"Marcus Antonius!"

"Caesar, my lord."

The eyes of the greybeards of the Senate shifted, taking in Caesar's most loyal Commander. Tall, with light blond hair and hazel eyes, Antonius cut a dashing figure in his bronze armor. He was widely rumored to be a reveler, enjoying his drink and the company of beautiful women. To include, some said, Queen Cleopatra VII of Egypt. Placed in command of a third of Caesar's legions at Pharsalus, Antonius had distinguished himself further, proving his loyalty to the man many in the Senate secretly worried would end the 500 year old Republic by proclaiming himself emperor.

With a flashed smile of supreme confidence, Caesar turned his back upon the Senators. If any had designs to kill, now was a prime moment, surrounded as he was by the greybeards. His body tensed, readying itself for a strike.

None came…

Spineless these Senators, thought Caesar, unwilling to get their hands dirty, rather wishing others such as Pompeius do their dirty work.

Before him was thrust a crown made of laurel leaves by a now kneeling Antonius.

"Caesar Imperator!" The crowd chanted.

With the back of his hand, Caesar brushed the crown aside. No, now was not the moment.

"Caesar Imperator! Caesar Imperator!"

Again the crown was offered, again he brushed it aside. Even with his victories, Caesar knew he wasn't yet powerful enough to claim the title of Emperor.

"Caesar Imperator! Caesar Imperator! Caesar Imperator!"

A third time the crown was offered, a third time brushed aside. Those who opposed him in the Senate had to be killed first, lest they become emboldened to strike.

One of his hands rose, the crowds fell silent in anticipation of his words.

"Citizens of Rome," Caesar's voice rolled off the marble, echoing through the streets. "Today we celebrate the addition of Gaul to our Republic!" The roar of the crowd rose to such heights it seemed the columned buildings themselves shuddered.

Both his hands rose, silence again descending over the masses. Dropping them, he gestured to two of his men below on the landing.

"And here," he bellowed while pointing "I give you the former ruler of Britannia! The Rebel Boadicea!"

The tall woman was brought before the masses, forced to her knees; she was made to endure the taunts of the crowd while their spittle pelted her.

Again the throng fell silent, watching with baited breath as Caesar descended the marble stairs. With a deliberate movement, he drew his blade, the steel flashing in the light cast by the quickly setting sun. Before him, the woman stiffened, knowing death was near yet refusing to close her eyes. She would meet death like a true warrior. The blade descended and the masses roared, gleefully cheering the complete subjugation of Britannia to Rome.

Turning, Caesar paced up the steps again, smirking at the Senators as he did so. Upon reaching the top, he faced the throng once more while raising his bloody sword high for all to see. Slowly the people fell silent as the blade moved, bloody tip pointing East.

"The Bitch of Greece shall yield to Rome!"

The people roared their assent to this new war for conquest.

"See the people, Antonius," Caesar instructed as the Senators parted before him. "how I have moved them."

Chapter 2

The battle raged.

"Relentless!" Xanthos yelled. "She is a spawn of Hades!"

The troops of Xena the Destroyer had sliced though Talmadeus' lines of fortified entrenchments around the city of Olynthus with ease. Now the army was effectively cut in half and in disorganized retreat. Using the word retreat to label the chaos going on around him was being far too charitable. "You must hold this line to cover our withdrawal into the city!" His commander, Xanthos, yelled down from atop his horse. "Once in the city we will hold the gates open for your own retreat. Until that time you will hold to the last, Lieutenant!

Sevastian had no time to argue his view as Xanthos had turned to race his mount back toward the city gates, before the Destroyer's men surrounded them completely. He was left alone, a newly appointed Lieutenant, in charge of 600 battered men. His sudden unofficial elevation to a commander spoke volumes about the complete implosion of Talmadeus' army.

"Hold to the last," he muttered. An exercise in the flowery rhetoric Athenians were so apt to use. He and these men would be sacrificed covering the retreat, that much was clear. Very well then, considered Sevastian, if I am to be but a pawn in this losing cause, then I will have some measure of solace by taking as many of the enemy with me to Hades as I can.

Arrows flew into his line, one violently ending the life of the man nearest him. Using his katana as a shield against the missiles, Sevastian batted those away which attempted to take his own life. His eastern armor was far better suited to arrows than the clunking metal plates which were en vogue with the Greeks.

"Use your shields!" he bellowed to the troops. Arrows began embedding themselves into wood with heavy thunks. He watched as the line of the enemy shifted, reasoning what was next. "Shields up!" he ordered in a hoarse yell "Form the defense!" The men scrambled, bunching together, forming a wall of protection using their shields, with those in the center raising them overhead, a formation the Romans call the tortoise. The sky darkened, not with clouds but with spears known as pilum. They arced toward his line in their hundreds, bringing more death from above. An ingenious weapon, as they struck the iron tip embedded into the wood of the shield, the handle breaking away, held as it was by flimsy wooden pins. Effective means to keep his troops from picking up the weapon and throwing it back at the enemy. Men would soon have to discard their shields, as they would become heavy, weighted as they were by the iron tips of the pilum. When they did so, an important means of self-defense would be lost.

Silence fell upon the battlefield as the Destroyer herself moved to the front of the line. Behind the dark warrior, the men of her cavalry formed. Sevastian had heard stories of the bravery of Xena in battle, always leading her men from the front of the battle line. This was the first time he had been witness to the Destroyer and she certainly looked the part of a conquering warlord. Astride a golden warhorse, the Destroyer was clad in black leather, covered by a layer of patterned armor. The breeze lifted and roiled the royal purple cape she wore. The sudden silence across the field was so complete that he could hear her cape flutter in the wind. For a long moment she sat, sword effortlessly twirling in one hand, the sun glinting both off her armour and the much feared metal ring at her hip.

Behind, the man nearest raised her personal standard, different from the rising phoenix, wings outstretched with evil tongues of fire at its feet, used as the standard of her army. No. No, this standard was cobalt blue, with a border black as Hades' realm, and in its center, woven in thread of black, was the stylized "X", first initial of the Destroyer's given name. The cloth waved lazily in the breeze, the luminous thread of the X shining in the Grecian Sun.

Sevastian's tongue darted out to nervously touch his lips for a moment, his eyes scanning to either side, taking in the fear which was visibly rippling through the men.

She was death personified.

"Hold the line!" he yelled, in defiance of her, his lone voice borne up by the wind.

In that instant, Sevastian watched as her head snapped toward him, raven hair whipping about.

Slowly her sword lifted, the tip moving to point directly at him, marking him.

Oh shit.

"The gates are closing!"

The shout caused him and the men in line to watch as the heavy oak and iron doors began to slowly shut. In an act of complete betrayal, the yellow bastards in the city had cut them off, having made the decision to let them die. Now they were trapped between the troops of the Destroyer and stone walls.

Here they would sit and be slaughtered by cavalry while what was left of Talmadeus' force, including his oh-so-brave commander Xanthos, sat happily behind the temporary safety of the stone wall surrounding the city.

Men suddenly broke ranks, running with all they had to try and make it into the city.

Sevastian ran to a central position, which served to block the retreat. Slowly, he raised the crimson-stained katana blade before the cagey, wild-eyed men.

"You will hold, or you will die where you stand!" he threatened.

There is fatalism amongst soldiers. Sevastian watched as the men realized the die had been cast.

"If this be our final act," he said with serious intent, "let us not appear before Hades clothed in the garb of cowards."

The men understood, fading back into the line. Sevastian let out a slight sigh of relief.

Mutiny was averted.

Turning to face the impending onslaught, his eyes darted about, scanning the battlefield. Sevastian racked his mind for some means to salvage the day, to avoid his force being slaughtered. He would not win and now it was far too late to attempt a parley to discuss terms of his surrender. The best he could hope for was a draw, perhaps buying enough time 'till sunset as the dark of night would make fighting difficult.

He had a sudden epiphany.

"Form squares! Now!"

Sevastian went on the move, running the length of his line shouting the command as Xena commenced the charge, the ring of her savage war cry sounding over the din of horses.

The men fell back, forming into squares, boxes of men with open ground in the middle. Those in front dropped to one knee, raising their pikes in defense against slashing blades carried by the men on horseback. Any man foolish enough to jump his horse into the center of the square would be pulled from his mount and slain.

"Reserve, with me!" he shouted, pleased as the men behind the line moved as one to follow him.

Behind the forming squares they ran. If Xena were to attack his position frontally, then he would use the 200 men in reserve to hit her left flank. His action would threaten her whole line, as should his men break through, he would be positioned behind her troops.

Swinging the curved blade overhead, he led the men up the slope and across open ground, running right into the force assigned to protect the flank of her army. His sword slashed, eviscerating a man as the lines clashed. Forward his men surged, wading into the larger force, being driven by a fanaticism caused by the realization they were on the cusp of defeat.

The line ahead of him faltered under the desperate assault.

"They're breaking!"

The enemy commander rode forth, his horse frothing from exertion. Too far away to slash him with his sword, Sevastian aimed and then flung his dagger at the man, striking him in the leg, where his armor didn't reach. With a cry of pain he lurched forward and was grabbed by the standard bearer behind, unwittingly giving the effect Sevastian wanted. It seemed to the enemy hoplites that their commander had been gravely wounded. Battles were won with more than tactics, more than brute force; battles could be turned by planting doubt in the minds of the enemy.

The line shattered before his men.

"Forward!" he screamed and his men let out a roar of triumph as the larger force fell back. This was no haphazard retreat; the enemy moved to reorganize their line, being far too well trained to give up the field so easily.

Screams from behind him caused Sevastian to turn his eyes to the line of men before the city gates.

It had all been a ruse.

The cavalry led by the Destroyer had broken off, parting as a curtain to reveal the troops behind. Flaming wooden barrels filled with Greek fire rolled down the slope, right into his men who were helplessly packed together in square formations. The barrels broke apart on the rocks jutting out of the slope, spraying fire upon the men as they did so. The smell of burning flesh assaulted him as the screams of the dying filled his ears. Nothing could put out the flames once Greek fire touched you; it devoured flesh down to bone.

The reformed and replenished enemy line ahead of him let out a yell of victory as they rushed back into his troops.

The tide of battle had turned.

"Reform the line!" he cried, desperation evident in his voice. It was too late; the men now broke and ran, panicked at the sound of cavalry converging fast upon their position.

He, Sevastian, would not run, would not be killed by a pilum in the back. No, he would die fighting. His katana rose in defense while quick prayers to the gods left his lips. One for his stepbrother held in ransom by Talmadeus, the other for his own honorable death. He had done all that had been asked of him by the warlord in his attempt to keep Kodi safe from harm. Sevastian was in an impossible situation, blackmailed into fighting for the man.

None of it mattered now; the Destroyer herself was upon him.

The man riding ahead of the warrior woman attempted to impress, recklessly charging his mount forward, wanting to kill him and gain glory in front of his leader. One of Sevastian's hands left his sword, dropping to uncurl the whip coiled at his side. As the horse thundered past, he dropped to one knee while raising his sword high. With a spark the two blades met. Spinning around while moving to stand, Sevastian's whip flared out, the end wrapping itself neatly around the man's neck. With a hard pull, the warrior was yanked from his horse, his neck snapping with an audible crick of bone.

"Impressive.

"Most impressive."

The low, velvety timbre of her voice sent a shudder through him as her men formed a ring around him, blocking any escape.

Turning, he swallowed hard, watching as she gracefully dismounted. Holding her sword with deceptive casualness, she strode forward to a position in front of him.

By the gods, she was beautiful! Far taller than him or any of the men around her, the Destroyer was coated in the gore of battle. Even so, her features were striking in their sharp angular planes. Eyes of the fiercest blue pinned him with hypnotic potency.

Behind her, the man he had impaled with his dagger hobbled up, supported on one side by another. "Let me kill him, Xena!" he pleaded. Her blue eyes never moved away from Sevastian as she spoke.

"Darphus, your stupidity knows no bounds. He would gut you like a fish."

Sevastian placed him; Darphus was his name. It would seem the Destroyer had a spy in her midst.

The men around him chuckled as the features of the hobbled man, this Darphus, reddened with sudden anger.

"Your cause is lost, and the men within the city will not survive." Her voice became soft, calm in the surety of the pronouncement.

His brother would not survive.

A vision powerful and vivid flashed suddenly before Sevastian.

There she stood, the Destroyer, upon the worn steps of a temple, dressed most strangely in blotchy clothing of green, brown and gray.

"Your will submits to mine." One of the Destroyer's hands left her hip, a most elegant finger extended, pointing to a spot directly in front of her. Her right boot extended and his forehead moved to rest upon its tip gently.

Blinking his eyes to dispel the hold of the vision, Sevastian noted a sudden slight twitch play momentarily upon her features.

Now was not the time to ponder the gods' intent with these strange images.

If he were to fight her, as pride begged him to do, his demise was all but assured and Kodi would most certainly die in the assault on Olynthus. He decided his best and only choice was to throw himself upon her mercy.

The Destroyer was not known for displays of mercy.

Falling to one knee, Sevastian held his blade up, presenting it to her while bowing his head in submission, awaiting judgment.

Xena watched as the eyes of her men shifted to her, fully expecting the man before her to be dead in the next moment.

She took the blade from his hands.

Silence reigned.

For a long terrible span Sevastian waited, breath quickening, eyes focusing on a single blood-tinged blade of green grass, believing this would truly be the last sight he would behold in this life.

"Disarm and bind him. Let no man touch him, I would speak with him later." Xena's eyes darted to Darphus, her glare silently giving him warning.

She wanted this one left alive, at least until she better understood the vision bestowed upon her.

Chapter 3

"Is there no voice sweeter than mine to sound in great Caesar's ear?"

The eyes of Metellus Cimber pleaded with Marcus Brutus to speak on his behalf.

Brutus moved forward, falling to one knee before Caesar as he sat upon the dais of Pompeius in a marble chair, old Pompeius' statue rising behind, gazing with sightless eyes at the senators, once loyal to his namesake, now groveling in front of Caesar.

"I kiss thy hand, but not in flattery Caesar." The young man stated earnestly while his lips touched the golden ring bearing Caesar's signet, placed as it was upon the consul's finger.

"Does not Cimber already kneel?" Julius asked with a smirk, which was mirrored on the features of Antonius behind.

"Most noble Caesar," Brutus began in a measured tone, "we only suggest to you that Pompeius should not be left alive so that you may rule fully as consul of the Republic."

And, thought Caesar wryly, all knowledge of those among you who supported his cause would die with him.

"Galia est pacata." Caesar growled, "I personally executed Vercingetorix here in the forum of Rome. I, Caesar, then crossed the treacherous Oceanus Britannicus to invade for the glory of Rome. Today, as you have seen, I ended the worthless life of Boadicea, thus removing the last obstacle to our rule of that troublesome island. Now, you dare tell me one single old man is a threat to Rome?"

"He still lives, great Caesar, and as long as he does; we fear the civil war will continue." Brutus pointed out diplomatically.

Caesar let out a huff of annoyance. "I have destroyed his legions, killed his sons!" his voice rose in frustration at the slight man kneeling beside Cimber. Brutus was a friend. Long ago he had chosen for his life's path one of service in the marble draped halls of the Senate. Though not a soldier, and therefore unworthy of high esteem, the man before him on bended knee was nevertheless making a point. Pompeius alive meant a magnet for any dissenters unsatisfied with his actions.

"What then, dear Brutus, would you have me do in the name of our glorious republic?" asked Caesar. His voice managed a respectful tone, effectively covering his disdain for republican Rome.

"He should be killed, Caesar," said Caius Cassius from further behind, "to prevent further bloodshed."

Unlike the soft green of Brutus' eyes, Cassius' deep brown held a lean and hungry look within. Where the noble Brutus' first thought was for the good of all Rome, Cassius' jealous mind thought only of himself.

"I tell you now, great Caesar," Cinna spoke while stepping near, "that the people tire of constant war, which drains our treasury, and desire lasting peace."

Draping an arm over the rounded back of the marble chair he sat on, Caesar's eyes flicked up as his ears caught the murmurs of the greybeards sitting upon the back rows of the chamber.

"Do we not have peace now, Cinna?" asked Caesar.

"You are correct, Caesar," Brutus conceded. "We have peace at the moment. And Pompeius is but one old man, yet he is dangerous for the engrafted hate he bears you. It is well within reason to think he would try to avenge the death of his sons on you and Rome."

Ah, Caesar thought, finally the noble Brutus speaks with some smidgen of self-interest. Should the old doffer Pompeius manage to retake Rome, senators would be among his targets as they now had switched their allegiance.

"Caesar, think of Pompeius in the context of the many enemies which still surround us." Brutus pleaded, moving to stand while helping the aged Cimber regain his feet. "To the west lies Hispania, supported by Hasdrubal, leader of a newly resurgent Carthage. To the east Greece, now locked in civil strife, but should the barbarian called Xena manage to consolidate her rule—"

"She won't!" Caesar replied curtly. Why couldn't that damnable woman have died on the cross?!

"Is it wise to embark upon a war with Greece when so many enemies surround us ready to strike at our first misstep?" queried Cassius. "What should be done about Persia under the rule of Xerxes?" he prodded further while stepping closer, a move which caused Antonius, on guard behind Caesar, to tighten his grip upon the hilt of his still-sheathed sword.

"Egypt under Cleopatra?" Cinna asked with worry.

"Well urged, Cinna. Both could act to cut our trade link with the riches of Chin and possible help from its ruler, Lao Tsu," added Metellus Cimber.

"My dear Senators, they all are but pieces on the Latrunculi board." Caesar's voice bore confidence. "You forget those leaders of whom you speak are already divided; mistrustful of each other. All that is left for Rome to do is conquer them one by one, starting with a very divided Greece. Do not worry yourselves; when the game concludes, Rome shall be in sole possession of the known world."

"How so, most noble Caesar?" asked Brutus.

"As you are all my friends and I friends with you all, rest assured that I shall tell you in due time. Now it is sufficient for you to know that Antonius leaves within a fortnight for Egypt where he will solidify our alliance with Cleopatra. I shall see to the matter of Pompeius personally in order to assuage your fears."

With that Caesar stood, a move designed to end further debate, his eyes watching as the greybeards followed, standing out of a mix of both respect and a healthy fear.

Once Pompeius is gone and Xena executed publicly in Rome, Caesar mused, I will kill these senators, disband the Senate, and finally rule as Emperor. Then one by one, the nations of the known world will fall to me.

"Come friends, let us taste some wine and enjoy the games held in my honor." A most charming smile lit his features as Caesar and the senators moved to leave the chamber.

From a darkened hall the cry arose.

"Beware the Ides of March!"

Greybeards near murmured in confusion, eyes searching in the direction of the shout.

"What man is that who shrieks like a specter from the darkness?" Caesar asked.

Antonius strode into the hall, grabbing the figure and bringing the haggard man into the light of the tapers burning in the senate chamber.

"A soothsayer bid you beware the Ides of March, Caesar." Brutus stated flatly.

"Bring the fellow here," commanded Caesar. "What say you now, to my face?"

Old gnarled hands rose slowly, palms up in a show of humble intent.

"Beware… the… Ides… of… March."

Silence ruled over the senate chamber for a long moment.

"He is mad," Caesar's voice carried a hint of uncertainty. "Come, friends."

As the group departed the chamber, Antonius alone remained, studying the man intently before he left as well, stepping quickly to be at Caesar's side.

Chapter 4

The luxury of warm water.

What a luxury it was, Xena reflected. Back in Amphipolis the three of them, Toris, Lyceus and she, all had to share one tub of water, having to work together to draw water from the town well, then placing the metal buckets over the fire to heat while they finished the day's chores.

Xena frowned at the thought that Lyceus and she had worked to haul water most days, Toris having made some excuse to get out of the work.

After the water had warmed, they would empty the metal buckets into a large wooden tub, tempering it slightly before bathing in the kitchen of their mother's inn. Paying customers got the privilege of a bath in their room. Peasant kids, as they were, scraped a bath when and where they could.

Toris, being the eldest, always made sure he was in the water first. The only thing he was ever first at was a bath. Well, that and supper. A smirk crossed Xena's features for a moment. Always did she give up her rightful place as second to go in the water to Lyceus. Ever grateful for the kindness, her little brother never tired of pleading with her to go before him for once and enjoy the tepid water before it became cold.

Lyceus' heart was always in the right place. Kindness flowed from him.

Now as a warlord, she could have a warm bath anytime she liked and damned if she ever got one. Cold water bathing in rivers was her norm when on campaign, same as her men. Getting used to the cold water in that metal tub all those years ago had proven to be good training for later hardships.

However, Xena had decided that today's rout of Talmadeus' army called for her to celebrate with a rare hot bath. Looking down, she took in the sight of the water, tinted as it was with the blood of those who had fallen in battle. Those she had killed. Such was war, she thought detachedly. If the unruly child that was Greece would not bend to her will peaceably, then it would be forced. All these petty squabbling warlords would be swept from the land; city-states would be brought to heel under her rule. There was no other way: Greece had to be united in order to survive against the hostile nations which surrounded her, and if Greece were to be united, she would be the one who would rule.

That was her destiny. The rest of the warlords would join and be subservient to her will or be killed. Shifting in the water, Xena tallied the score mentally. Cortese had been the first to fall to her, satisfying a need to have vengeance for Lyceus. From there, she, a simple peasant girl in Amphipolis, had marched, recruiting and then training an army that was unstoppable in battle. Strengthened by Caesar's betrayal, tempered by lessons learned at Corinth and Chin, hardened from destroying the Amazon tribes of the grassy steppes, she had moved to conquer Greece for her own. First the towns and villages of the region known as Chaicidice had fallen, and then her army took Macedonia. From there she launched an attack on Epirus, and finally proud Thessalia had been brought to heel. Now those opposed to her were marshaling what resources they could to make a stand against her. Only two city-states, Athens and Corinth, were left standing between her and destiny.

Of the major warlords, Theodorus had been—eliminated. At least Theodorus had died with some smidgen of honor, choosing to fall upon his sword amidst the annihilation of his army by her forces. Talmadeus was now under threat from her army. Smarter than Theodorus, perhaps the old man would concede defeat.

Only Draco and Zagreas remained. Word had it that Draco had been first employed as a mercenary by the King of Corinth, charged with defending the city. Typical of Draco, he had led a coup, taking the palace over and executing the former king in the city's Agora. Draco's second in command was the ever-cautious Zagreas. A smirk marred Xena's beautiful features for just a moment. Draco must be scraping the bottom of the barrel to choose an idiot like Zagreas. The man was so paranoid, Xena bet he wouldn't trust his own mother.

Then there was Toris.

A decidedly unfriendly smile touched Xena's lips for a moment. She was looking forward to seeing her long-absent older brother again.

Of the city-states, Sparta had been the most tenacious. Good warriors, those Spartans, but not good enough. For their stubbornness in opposing her, their city had burned. She ordered every man killed, filling the countryside with an array of crosses, shaped as the first initial of her name. Without mercy, she had ordered the women and small children to northern lands under her control. A life of farming and work in her mines was the sentence for them being so obstinate in urging their men to continue the fight even when it no longer made sense.

The flames which consumed Sparta were lovely, Xena reflected, how they colored the night sky with their destructive brilliance. Flickering shapes cast up by the fires upon the clouds, lights which could be seen for leagues in every direction.

A clear warning to those who would dare to oppose her destiny.

The only building she had allowed to stand was the temple dedicated to Ares. Such a shame that his bronze statue had melted into a lump from the heat of the flames.

Pity that… she thought with a smirk.

Xena suddenly frowned. A long, pained sigh escaped her lips.

"And here lies my chosen."

"What do you want Ares?" words spoken as she moved to rest her head upon the back of the wooden tub.

"Don't I even get a hello first?" The god spread his arms wide while flashing a brilliant smile.

Silence.

His smile faded.

Dropping his arms, Ares moved to sit upon the edge of the tub.

"Ya know, most people would be awestruck by my mere presence," Ares complained, citing Xena's lack of respect.

"They don't know you as well as I do."

Xena watched with lidded eyes as the deity frowned, his ire rising.

"While you dawdle in your bath, Chosen, Caesar has conquered both Gaul and Britannia." He chastised.

"Good." She purred, inwardly pleased by his bewildered reaction.

"How is that good?" asked Ares in a distinctly un-amused tone.

"Let the Roman dogs spend their blood and treasure wiping out the remaining bands of resistance in those lands. They make my work easier when I take them for Greece."

Ares stood, moving to clasp his hands behind him.

"So you say, Chosen. Yet here you sit outside worthless Olynthus, giving Athens and those allied with her all the more time to prepare for your attack."

"Never leave enemies at one's back." Xena replied calmly, daring him to disagree.

"I agree," Ares conceded with a smile, "however you've cornered yourself into having to lay siege to take the city."

"Perhaps." She stated cryptically. "There are always choices."

Standing suddenly, she waited, allowing the water to skirt off her tall body. Easily matching the deity in height, Xena watched as Ares' eyes widened as he admired her.

Men, be they gods or mortals, were always so easily distracted.

Stepping gracefully over the edge of the tub, she moved to cover her body with a black robe.

"I do not like my Chosen being forced into a siege. The enemy should have been destroyed completely and not allowed to gain the protection of city walls. It all makes me wonder if you are truly capable of holding the title of my Chosen."

"Then pick another." She challenged, "I will enjoy killing her—or him—as you watch. I recall you attempted it with, ah—" She paused, feigning having trouble recalling the name.

"Najara, from Phoenicia." He growled.

"Didn't work too well for ya." a feral smile lit her features. "Who knew a severed head could bounce so far, eh? All the way down that mountain side." The warlord smirked at the god. "Course," she began while sauntering over to him sexily, her long magnificently toned legs peeking out from the robe, "there was another one, what was her name?" The fingers of Xena's right hand snapped a few times as she pretended again to not recall a name, to continue toying with him.

Ares craned his neck back, looking up at the fabric roof of the tent in exasperation as if imploring Zeus to help him.

"Mavican." he huffed out in exasperation, before slumping into a camp chair.

"Ah, yes!" Xena stated in an exaggerated tone. "Have ya checked up on her lately? Doing alright sealed up as she is in that cave?" A hint of a smile graced her features. "She sure whined for ya when things got tough." The warlord goaded. "All I had to do was leave her hanging by some vines over a big hole and she whimpered for you like a new born."

"Your point in bringing all this up?" he cut in grumpily.

"You brought it up Ares," Xena retorted while moving to pour a bit of wine "I'm just reminding you of what happened each time you tried to replace me as your chosen. Face it, I've defeated every champion you've picked, so I'd say your threat to find another rings a little hollow."

"Xena." he rumbled her name in a warning tone.

"I seem to recall a certain war god begging me to help him." She continued, ignoring his display of temper. "Remember, I was the one who tricked that pestering, soft-hearted fool of a half-brother of yours into another dimension. Unchain my heart." A derisive snort of laughter bubbled up from her as she recalled the moment the demi-god had spouted that drivel. She paused to take a sip from the jewel-encrusted goblet, eyes watching as Ares fumed at being embarrassed by her. "Are you really sure you both had the same father?" she chided.

"Olynthus, Xena!" Ares seethed; humiliated he had to ask her help to get rid of Hercules. "How are you going—?"

"Leave that to me."

His hand raised, finger pointing directly at her. "Don't take too long, my patience wears thin."

With a flash he was gone.

For a long moment she was still, lost in thought, before walking to the tent flaps.

"You! Hoplite!"

The man came before her, moving to kneel, having been guarding the entrance to the tent.

"Fetch me the young officer who fought against us today, the one in the armor from the eastern regions."

"By your command, Polemarchos."