Commodus stared up at Maximus with shell-shocked eyes. The sword lodged into his stomach was forcing cascaded masses of blood from the end of the sword. Something in the gladiator's thick lips twitched. With a final, vengeful grip, Maximus pulled the sword from the emperor and dropped his dead body to the ground with a heavy thud.
The battle was over.
Rome's emperor was dead.
Maximus's raging retribution was fulfilled.
The crowd was silent, staring at their merciful gladiator with stunned, unfathomable expressions.
Maximus turned from Commodus's corpse to the soldiers gathering around him. The knife wound in his chest was beginning to throb with a burning sensation. His vision was blurred, his balance wobbly.
"Maximus!" Pius exclaimed in concern.
"Pius…" Maximus replied in a dogmatic tone. "Free my men. Senator Gracchus is to be reinstated… there was a dream that was Rome… it shall be realized… these are the wishes of Marcus Aurelius…"
"Free the prisoners!" General Pius pivoted and ordered his soldiers. Two men left to attend to the iron gates imprisoning Maximus's fellow gladiators.
Images flashes across Maximus's mind. He couldn't distinguish what they were. He was walking through a grain field, his fingertips brushing the fuzz of the wheat. The sun was emitting low rays of yellow across the countryside. The color was enhanced, nothing like the colors on earth.
Maximus continued to stare ahead until the heaviness of the wound pain weighed on him and he fell back against the ground with the same thud as Commodus. Lucilla scurried to his side, kneeling beside him and staring into his eyes.
"Maximus!" she said in a hoarse voice.
"Lucius is safe," Maximus reassured her, staring back into her teary, orchid eyes before staring at the sky above him. Lucilla knew all too well death for Maximus wouldn't merely be looking at the clouds but something more reassuring…
"Go to them…" Lucillla encouraged him gently. Maximus' head drifted for a while along with his eyes until both became still. By now, tears were cascading down Lucilla's face; he was moving into the next world.
Maximus could feel his spirit being lifted across the scattered mess of rose petals from adoring fans. The field of wheat and sunshine appeared again. A little boy, no more than eight years old, was wandering with his mother, a beautiful woman with curves and long dark hair. The boy looked ahead upon seeing the figure of his father finally return. The mother bent down and whispered something in his ear before the boy took off running towards his father. The mother smiled and watched him go. Maximus smiled at the sight of his family, well and happy, as he continued forward with his fingertips brushing the tips of the grain.
Lucilla placed her palm on Maximus's forehead in an effort to close his eyes for the last time. He was gone, at peace.
"You're home," Lucilla whispered, trembling with sadness. She straightened her back and grasped her head in grief, desperately attempting to keep from screaming out in sorrow. Noticing the crowd of senators and soldiers gathering around her along with her own son, Lucius, she stood from the ground and faced the quiet men. Lucilla's expression grew stern and philosophical as she walked towards the senate that had corrupted Rome.
"Is Rome worth one good man's life?" she questioned with dignity. "We believed it once. Make us believe it again,"
Senator Gracchus stepped forward, past Lucilla and over to Maximus's empty shell.
"He was a soldier of Rome!" Lucilla boomed, instilling chills of surprise into each of the men. "Honor him." Lucilla ordered.
"Who will help me carry him?" Senator Gracchus declared and gazed down at the corpse of a legendary general. Lucius was the first to step forward before the fellow gladiators did. They lifted Maximus from the sandy surface and held him up as though they were carrying a coffin.
Mother and son watched them leave. The crowd remained silent, in honor of their fallen, heroic gladiator of Rome.
It was late at night. Several hours had passed since Maximus's and Commodus's deaths. Djimon was digging into the very spot where his ally had fallen.
Once the dirt hole was shaped into a decent size, the African tribesman unwrapped the cloth possessing two wooden figures that Maximus had carried with him when far away from home – his wife and son. Djimon's dirty fingertips grabbed both of the sculptures and placed them down into the hole before burying both of them.
"Now we are free," Djimon proclaimed appreciatively, looking around into the empty seats of the gladiator ring. "I will see you again… but not yet," The tribesman assured with a smile. "Not yet…"
With that, Djimon, the former gladiator, grabbed his belongings and turned to walk away.
Above the glorious gladiator ring and the city of Rome lay a sunset of dashing colors. This was no ordinary sunset, but one in which a hero was welcomed into the heavens that day. There was a dream that was Rome forever honored in the skies.