From Kanuro5: My 10th chapter of Invictus! This is such a happy day for me, but I want to say that I could not have gotten this far without all of you reading my work and giving me feedback. Thank you all! I at first thought that this would take me two weeks to finish, I am so surprised that it only took one full week. But do not think that I will be doing weekly chapters, I'm going to be busy for a while. I also want to apologize for the length of this chapter, it's pretty long but it's for story reasons. I'll try to condense it next time, but expect the big battle scenes to be this long. Hope you enjoy it!

IX

Vici

On top of the Summit, the surrounded Gauls had their hands bind together by rope and were escorted off the Summit by the Romans who rode down on horseback. The bounded Gauls were a pathetic sight to behold, they moped as they walk for being so foolish to trust Romans; they walked into their trap on top of the Summit and were captured. They knew where they were being taken; back to their village which they saw from the top of the summit was scorched by flames. They prayed that most of the villagers had escaped, but after seeing the calculated genius of Lucius Julius, they began to doubt if anyone was still alive in their village.

Lucius was in front of the group, wearing a firm yet smug smirk of his plan coming together. It was nearly perfect, the Gauls walked up the Summit and were caught, and it was almost too easy. The only thing that bothered the Roman general was his son. Vitus was consistently whining about Lucius' actions the whole time down the Summit. Yet Lucius would not give Vitus a reply, he would reveal all once they got to the village.

Once reaching the outskirts of the village, the first thing they all heard were the panicking cries of Gauls resonating from within the village. The darkened smoke from the burning huts wafted high into the air, shielding the lovely blue noon sky with thick blackness The Gauls started crying out in disbelief as they watched their village burn. They spat curses at the Romans, released cries for their loved ones; as their voices rang out for their home now in flames.

Upon reaching the wooden gate, the Romans were greeted by a lone centurion running out to meet the returning general.

"Centurion, how fare you?" Lucius asked.

"General, the 3rd Cohort has taken the southern part of the village, the 4th Cohort has seized the northern and eastern part, and the 5th Cohort has sealed off the western part," the Centurion announced.

Vitus sharply turned his head to his father. The missing cohorts? They were here? They were the ones who did this? Vitus thought to himself.

"What of the 1st Cohort?" Lucius continued.

"They took control of the center of the town, and are seizing the remaining Gauls to place them in the center of the village."

"They are being seized?" Vitus blurted out, "For what purpose?! Father, what do you—?"

"How was resistance?" Lucius asked the centurion, ignoring his son's questions. The centurion smiled.

"We took them by complete surprise, the Gallic men proved little challenge and were easily wiped out. We only have a few deaths."

"Good. And what of Primus Pilus Cossutius?"

"He is at the village center overseeing the capture of all prisoners. He is currently awaiting your arrival, General."

"Understood, escort us to him." Lucius commanded.

The centurion saluted and yelled to the sentries on top of the large wooden gate to open it for the Romans and their newly acquired Gallic prisoners.

"Father! What is this?! What is happening?!" Vitus shouted.

Lucius slowly turned around, finally acknowledging his pestering son. "The end of a nation," the Roman coldly stated.

As the wooden gates slowly opened, a simmering blast of heat blew on the men outside the village. Vitus shielded his face with his hand from the intense heat, only realizing that the fire was coming from a scorched hut that was covered in flames right next to the gate. And outside the house, there were two Roman legionaries who were throwing bodies of Gauls; men, women, and children into the burning hut. The smell of burnt flesh filled the air and reached the men outside the camp. The Romans who were used to the smell of death bravely passed by the grotesque scene with stoic faces; yet the foul stench filled Vitus' virgin nostrils and made him vomit all over the back of his horse. All of the Gauls were silently watched in anguish as their kin were being callously tossed into the inferno; all but the chieftain were silent, he screamed a bloody wail at the sight of those who he swore to protect lied dead before him.

The whole village was in chaos. The Gallic people were running throughout the entire village trying to evade capture from the Romans who were methodically entering huts and either murdered or captured who was inside before burning the huts. The captured ones were being escorted to the center of the village to await judgment while those who were killed in the chaotic frenzy were discarded in the muddy streets. Corpses of the slain villagers were everywhere, it was impossible for a person to walk ten steps without stepping on a body. Some of the bodies were lined up perfectly in a line which indicated that they were executed. This was too much. However, for Vitus, Ivomandus, and the rest of the Gauls; this nightmare realm of chaos and death was just the beginning. As the centurion led the Romans inside the village, Vitus truly witnessed the cesspool of savagery and barbarity.

. One Gallic old man was defending himself against two Romans with a pitchfork. The Gaul however didn't see the third Roman sneaking behind him. The third Roman thrust his sword through the old man's back; and as the old man fell dead, the two Romans laughed and spat on the man's corpse. He witnessed one legionary dragging a woman out of her hut by the hair, screaming for the Roman to let her go as another Roman threw a torch into her hut. To Vitus' left, he witnessed several legionaries who were drunk on Gallic wine, callously kicking bounded Gauls into the mud before urinating on them. One Roman had forced a man at the age of 17 into the mud before he proceeded to force himself inside the Gaul. The Gaul wailed each time the Roman thrust his hips, and an onset of tears flowed from the raped man's face. This savagery didn't stop. The deeper that Lucius and his men went into the city, the more brutality that Vitus witnessed.

A young woman was pinned down by several drunken Romans who poured oil on her long flowing hair. They brought a torch out and threw it on her head, lighting her hair on fire. They released her and laughed until they pissed themselves at the sight of the woman running around with her hair on fire. The 5 year old daughter of the woman was crying that her mother was on fire and repeatedly kicked the Roman that lit her on fire. The Roman dropped the torch and picked the little girl up by her ankles and slammed her against the hardened wood of the huts, cracking her delicate skull open. A man of 20 years of age lied out in the street crying for help. Vitus noticed he was holding his bleeding stomach, the man was sliced open and his entrails were hanging out, the man was using a leather helmet to keep his entrails within his body. As blood spurt out from his mouth, he tried to grab Vitus' horse, Romulus', legs to get Vitus to help. One legionary watching ran up to the man and kicked him in his face. As the man laid there dying, the legionary drew his sword and repeatedly smashed the man's teeth in with the ball of his Gladius. He pulled out four blood soaked teeth and smiled cruelly at the suffering Gaul before leaving him to die. The madness continued on, too many gruesome sights to take in. It was all too much for the young Roman, Vitus.

Vitus vomited once again, only this time he felt a sharp pain in his gut. This was too much. He had seen too much. Gallic men and women were lying on top of each other in pools of blood. Children with their throats slit lied on top of their parents. Bodies lied twisted in awkward positions, some of their eyes still open, their empty, bleak eyes fell upon Vitus, haunting him with their gaze. The bodies never ended. The farther they went the more bodies they saw. The blood in the air, the intense blaze from the fires, the piercing screams of the slaughter; it was all too much, Vitus did not even know what was real anymore. All he did was cry, he cried, and cried until they finally arrived at the center of the village.

Once Lucius' group arrived at the village's square, they were met with a thunderous cheer by the men of the First Cohort who were waiting for them. They whistled and cheered their general's name as they threw wine in the air as he arrived. But the Romans were not the only ones at the square. Squatting down, surrounding the entire square, were hundreds of Gallic villagers who were captured and bounded by iron chains. At the sight of the Roman general entering triumphantly into the square; all the Gauls who were old enough to understand who he was, shed tears of sorrow. For them, it was the day that they feared; the day that "Lucius Julius the Mighty, the Vanquisher of the Gauls" would destroy them. But upon seeing their precious chieftain who had his hands bounded by rope, a captured trophy for the Romans; they all wept uncontrollably. Husbands hugged their wives; parents hugged their children; for there was no hope for them as a people. This was their end. But the worse blow felt by any Gaul was by the chieftain, who upon seeing the remains of his people in chains, fell forth to ground and cried to the heavens for the gods to strike him down for failing his people. He did not want to feel their stares of despair and anger at him, he did not want to feel the humiliation and satisfaction of the Roman who captured him, he prayed to the gods to strike him down so hard that his lungs were on the verge of bursting; yet the gods did not respond to Ivomandus.

Once directly in the square, Lucius jumped off of his horse and walked towards Cossutius, the senior centurion of the legion. Lucius stood in front of Cossutius, and took a gaze around the doomed village and the hundreds of Gallic prisoners.

"Cossutius," Lucius said as he continued to look around the square.

"Yes, General?"

Lucius returned his focus to his Primus Pilus and saluted him with a proud smile, "You have done a most excellent service."

Cossutius smiled hard and saluted the general back, "Gratitude for your compliments, General. But credit also goes to that Gallic mercenary, Totates. Without him, we would not have known the unguarded positions of the village."

"That is true, but only a man like you could have led four cohorts to attack this village in complete secrecy." Lucius replied.

"Gratitude once again, you honor me, General." Cossutius said with pride as he saluted once more.

"You honor yourself with such actions," Lucius told his best centurion. "Now, how many prisoners have you acquired here?"

"There was approximately 1300 Gauls in this settlement. We have here around…800, based on last report, General."

Lucius chuckled at the statistic, "You are telling me, that the men slaughtered 500 Gauls once they entered?"

"You know how stubborn these Gauls are," Cossutius snickered, "They did not know when to be conquered."

Lucius turned his head towards Ivomandus, who was still begging for the gods to kill him for his naiveté. "Which brings me to reminder." Lucius walked closer to the captured Gauls and ordered his men, "Bring the Gallic prisoners and put them with the rest. Bring the chieftain to me." Lucius turned to Cossutius, "Where is Petrosidius? Summon him for me."

Lucius' bodyguards and the Mighty Three got off their horses and grabbed the prisoners and brought them over to the rest of the hundreds of Gallic prisoners. Once Oroles got off his horse, he noticed that Vitus was still on his horse, staring off into space. Oroles walked over to tell Vitus to get off, but froze once he saw the condition that Vitus was in. Vitus was trembling in his saddle, gripping the reins so tight that it was nearly embalmed into his palms. His bright dual colored pupils resembled small holes in the middle of his eyes, fidgeting from side-to-side from the carnage that he's seen. His warm tears flowed down his small cheeks as he whimpered and wept to himself.

"Vitus…" Oroles said in a soothing tone, slightly touching his hand that was gripping the reins too tight. Vitus slowly turned his shaking head towards Oroles who was staring back at him with concerned and compassionate eyes. Vitus' face began to scrunch up as he unknowingly began to cry harder. So much has stained Vitus' eyes that he almost couldn't recognize his savior. Oroles looked deep into Vitus' terror filled eyes and told him slowly, "Listen to my words…breathe in…breathe out…do what I am doing…breathe in…breathe out…"

Vitus witnessed Oroles slowly inhale and exhale and gradually followed his directions. Vitus inhaled, then exhaled, then inhaled again, then exhaled. After the fifth exhale, Vitus began to calm down; his trembling stopped and he released the reins from his grasp. After the seventh slow exhale, Oroles helped Vitus down off of Romulus.

"Oroles…did you witness…all those—" Vitus weakly stammered to the Thracian.

"Calm yourself, Vitus. Calm yourself," Oroles said, comforting the fragile young Roman as he led him to where his father stood. Oroles had seen this before; he had seen how a man who had never seen the death of war would break down. He remembered how it utterly destroyed men who were not prepared for the shock, yet he was also taught what to say to those exposed to the carnage. Vitus was one of those who was not prepared for this; Oroles could see it in his eyes that the young man was truly a virgin to war.

Metellus and Arminius dragged the broken Ivomandus over and set the chieftain on his knees in front of General Julius. At that moment, Vibius Petrosidius, the aquilifer of the Legio XXVIII made his way through the crowded village center, holding the Aquilia, the golden eagle standard of the Twenty-Eighth. At the sight of the Aquila, the cheering Romans fell deathly silent in respect of their sacred legionary standard. Petrosidius walked beside Lucius and stood at attention.

Lucius stared into the broken eyes of the Gallic chieftain and smiled in triumph, "Before you, is Ivomandus, the chieftain of the Candevaci!" Lucius announced to the Gallic prisoners watching, "He is now my prisoner! The justice of the Republic knows no bounds and he will pay for his crimes against the Republic! He will pay, but you all may not have to suffer for his crimes!"

Lucius nodded to Petrosidius, the man lowered the Aquila until the head of the eagle was within Ivomandus' face. Ivomandus gazed at the golden eagle and peered back up to Lucius.

"You have one last chance to redeem your folly and the folly of your kin," Lucius told Ivomandus, loud enough to be heard across the square. "Kiss the standard of the Twenty-Eighth to recognize my sovereignty and spare your people from destruction. If you do not, then you and every man, woman, and child in this village…WILL! BE! CRUCIFIED! Spare everyone a pointless and painful death, and kiss the eagle."

On his knees, the old man looked at his people in chains and could recognize the pain and fear in their eyes. They didn't want to die. They didn't deserve to die. They were his people and he had failed them all. He then looked into the eyes of his family; his three sons and his three daughters and his wives. They reluctantly turned away; they couldn't bear the sight of their humiliated father. Ivomandus wept harder; he already failed to protect his eldest son Druxus and his youngest son Crenexis; he would not condemn his family to die by Romans. Their shame will live on, but they will be alive.

Ivomandus stared into Lucius' eyes with cold defiance, yet submitted to the Roman general, and kissed the eagle. The edge of Lucius' mouth rose.

"Torch!" Lucius ordered. A Roman quickly brought a torch forward. Lucius walked over to the wooden flagpole that stood erect in the center of the square. As he walked closer, he eyed the green Gallic flag with an auburn boar in the center that blew freely in the wind. Lucius drew his sword and sliced the rope of the flagpole and caught the descending Gallic flag. He grasped the flag and stared into it; he felt the rugged fabric of the flag and felt the absolute power of holding the last symbol of the Gaul in his hands.

Lucius walked back towards the Roman who held the torch, whilst enjoying the spectacle of all Gallic eyes upon him, knowing that he holds the very icon of what makes them Gauls. Lucius finally reached the torch-carrying Roman and held the flag out and dipped it into the torch, and watched, as the flag caught on fire and quickly burned into ashes. Lucius dropped the burning flag on the ground and stood back in awe. This was the last Gallic settlement, Lucius Julius the Mighty has finally destroyed the Gauls.

Antonius drew his sword and lunge it in the air in recognition of this joyous occasion and shouted at the top of his lungs, "JULIUS!" Every Roman present drew their swords into the air and chanted "Julius! Julius! Julius!" celebrating their General's victory. The thunderous din of chants echoed throughout the village, where the other Cohorts heard the chants and joined in, forever reminding the Gauls who it was that conquered them.

Lucius smiled so hard that his cheeks began to hurt. This was another glorious moment for his life. This was the last settlement of the Gauls, the enemy that his ancestors spent their entire lifetime to destroy; and he did it with only one legion. His Twenty-Eighth! By the Gods, he was proud of his men. If it wasn't for their spirit, he never would have gotten this far. The destruction of the Gauls! Lucius smiled harder at the thought of songs being sung of him back in Rome, no—being sung throughout the entire Republic. This was a huge victory for the Julii. No other Roman family has destroyed two nations. The Brutii destroyed the Greeks and the Scipii destroyed the Carthaginians. But the Julii have now destroyed the Spanish and the Gauls, both nations falling because of Lucius! This moment was legend! He is now a Roman legend!

The only men who were not chanting along with everyone else were Vitus and Oroles. The two men simply watched the spectacle of cheering Romans praising their general for ending ten years of fighting against the Gauls. Vitus, who had now calmed down, stood by Oroles, gawking at the men. Why? Why are you all celebrating? Why? Have you not seen the carnage you inflicted…what my father has inflicted? Why? Have you all gone mad? Vitus expressionless confusion turned to bitter anger. He was angry at everything. He was angry at the slaughter he has witnessed, he was angry that the innocent Gauls before him were in chains, he was angry at the Romans for celebrating whilst half the city is burning. He was angrier at the Romans who caused all this madness without a care. Yet the unbridled anger that Vitus was feeling was directed at his own father who allowed for this bloodbath to happen and for lying to him about his plans with the Gauls.

Without warning, Vitus walked forth to his father who was still in rapture of his victory. Vitus bypassed the cheering First Cohort and headed for his father. His father was going to explain himself to him, Vitus was damn sure of that. He wanted answers, and he was determined to get them.

But as he kept walking forward, he stopped at the sound of uncontrollable sobbing. He turned around and noticed that it was Ivomandus who was sobbing on his knees. Vitus momentarily forgot about his rage against his father and proceeded to study the defeated chieftain. The man had lost everything to his own foolishness; he honestly believed that he could attain peace through talk. Vitus understood his pain, Vitus always figured that the sign of a great leader is through the art of diplomacy; yet…his father has shown that diplomacy was for the weak, and the chieftain was the living example of it. Vitus wanted to walk up to the man and tell him to forgive him for the way his father acted in his betrayal. He wanted to apologize for something, say anything to remedy the situation. But Vitus remained motionless, what could one say to a man who has lost everything?

"Vitus! My son!" Lucius said, still feeling joyful over his victory, "Do you see what kneels before us?" he said pointing at Ivomandus, "It is the will of the weak who dare defies the will of the Republic."

"Father, do you not feel…sympathy for the man?" Vitus asked, still focused on the chieftain. The smile from Lucius' face evaporated.

"No… I do not. It was his own weakness that led him to despair. I—" Lucius stopped midsentence as an idea came to him. He looked at his son with a blank face and told him, "Vitus, draw your dagger."

"What?" Vitus asked, not fully understanding the intent of the question. The chanting of the First Cohort quieted down, where everyone could hear what the father and son was saying.

"I said, draw your dagger," Lucius said again, putting more emphasis into the command.

Vitus hesitantly unsheathed his dagger and held it in his hands. Lucius nodded and pointed at Ivomandus, "I want you to kill the chieftain."

The whole earth felt like it fell from underneath Vitus. His face contorted into confusion at the command, he could not begin to rationalize it. Ivomandus stopped his crying and looked up at Vitus with raised eyes. Oroles' jaw dropped. Some of the Romans looked at each other in disbelief. Even Antonius was outwardly perplexed by the command.

"What?" Vitus asked again, fear being noticeable in his tone.

"I want you to take your dagger and slice the Gallic chieftain's throat." Lucius ordered without any emotion.

"B-B-B-B-But you said that he will be free of his crimes," Vitus weakly countered.

"I said that the rest of the Gauls would be spared from miserable fate, not their chieftain. Now go forth and slice open his throat and spill his Gallic blood upon the earth."

"Go on, Commander! Gut the old Gallic cunt!" Metellus eagerly encouraged Vitus from afar.

"Spill his heathen blood!" another Roman shouted.

"Show them Gauls what happens when one fucks with the Twenty-Eighth!" a third Roman bellowed.

Half of the First Cohort suddenly began shouting out praises and encouragements for Vitus to execute the Gallic chieftain. Ivomandus gazes at the Roman Cohort calling for his blood and looks at his executioner to see if he would succumb to the mob's desire. Vitus felt the pressure of everyone cheering for him to do it, to end the life of one Gaul; to prove to them that he had what it took.

Antonius walked up behind the focused Lucius and asked him, "General, are you sure this is the appropriate way?"

"I have never been surer in my life. Vitus needs this," he replied without even hesitating. Lucius fully believed that what he was doing was right. He knew that Vitus had never killed a man before, and he remembers that killing your first man is what is needed to become a true soldier.

Lucius remembers his first kill fondly. He was 19 years old and was riding with his elder brother, Decius, to quell a small rebel uprising. It was only them and 13 of Decius' bodyguard cavalry and they went out to destroy two units of peasant rebels terrorizing the countryside. He remembers that their cavalry caught the peasants when they were resting during the middle of the day and that Decius ordered the charge and their cavalry wiped out the rebel peasants. Lucius was beyond eager to get his first kill, his father Manius had taught him and his brothers that a real soldier kills all the enemies that he meets. And that was just what Lucius wanted to do, to wipe out all of the rebels. During the surprise attack, Lucius picked out a fleeing rebel as a target and rode out to him. The peasant was fast, but he could not out run a horse. Lucius grasped his spear tight and when he was in range, lunged his spear into the fleeing rebel's back, piercing the rebel's heart, killing him instantly. After that quick and clean kill, Lucius stared at the body that once was alive; and laughed. The feeling…the joyous euphoria of ending a man's life in war was absolutely marvelous. The adrenaline when you are about to deliver the killing blow was addictive. He wanted more, it was glorious. Lucius proudly remembers that as one of his favorite kills and now as he watches his son, he hopes that he will feel the same way as well.

Vitus locked eyes with the bound Gallic chieftain, he could see an entire tundra of emotions coursing through his soul; fear, sorrow, anger, despair, and hopelessness. Vitus bit his bottom lip as he continued to hear the cheers from the cohort; they wanted him dead, the chieftain himself probably wants to die himself. It will be easy to take his life…I just bring the dagger to his throat and pull and he will die…if it is that easy, then why do I hesitate? I feel sick to my stomach, is this right? What has this man done to me?

Vitus looked into the sea of repetitive faces of the Roman legionaries, yet only Oroles' face stuck out the most. Vitus looked upon Oroles from afar. Oroles did not say a word; all he did was shake his head. Vitus understood his own hesitation. This was wrong. I cannot do this. This is not right! My first kill…will not be an execution! This man before me deserves better! Not to be humiliated by being killed by a young man like me…wait…that is why Father really wants me to kill him…to embarrass him one last time. I will not do this! I won't!

Vitus turned around and faced his father with disgust. Lucius squinted his eyes and asked, "Why do you hesitate? Kill the chieftain."

"No! I will not do this!" Vitus snapped. The cheering abruptly stops. Everyone was speechless. All the Romans looked at each other gossiping about the rejection. Oroles covered his mouth with his hand in surprise. Even Lucius was stunned silent by Vitus' refusal.

"What…did you say?" Lucius asked, still shocked that Vitus disobeyed him.

"I said no! I will not follow that order!" the young Roman spat at his father.

All Roman eyes fell upon the general. Throughout the legion's entire existence, no man had ever disobeyed a direct order from General Julius, no one except for Oroles. Lucius shook his head in shock with his mouth agape; this was the very first time that Vitus ever told his father "No."

"You will follow, that order," Lucius growled at his insubordinate son, as his surprised face transformed into a dark scowl.

"I, will, not!" Vitus emphasized.

"Vitus! You will do as I command!" Lucius screamed, his face turning red.

"I will not! I will not kill this man, he has already endured enough and I will not take his life!"

The gossiping amongst the Romans grew louder. It was clear that Lucius was losing his authority, and he knew it as well. The chieftain looked up at his defender and twisted his face in confusion. Vitus took his firm stance and matched his father's scowl with his own. His father's death scowl was terrifying, but during this battle of wills, Vitus vowed to himself that he would not break.

Lucius inhaled through his nostrils and gritted his teeth and growled lowly, "Commander, you are a soldier under the Army of the Republic; and your punishment will fit accordingly. Either you kill that man, or I will have you killed for insubordination!"

Everybody swung their heads at Lucius in shock. Did they hear him right, he would actually kill his own son? Yet the unbroken eye contact that Lucius had with his son, sent shivers down many legionaries' spines. It was hard to believe, but they actually felt sure that Lucius would order the death of his son.

Vitus' façade crumbled instantly. His intimidating eyes now converted into confusion and despair. He shook his head in disbelief, this could never happen. His father loved him; he would never threaten him with death. Was this Gallic chieftain so important that he needs to die? Or is it more about any man undermining his authority? These questions and hundreds of others raced through Vitus' mind at once. But what truly scared Vitus was that Lucius' hate-stricken eyes of wrath did not change once, after he issued his threat. Was he serious? Would he actually kill me?

"What is your answer? Kill that man!" Lucius screamed.

"Father…" was the only thing Vitus could utter.

"Guards! Swords!" Lucius ordered his bodyguards. His bodyguards instantly drew their swords and surrounded Vitus and the kneeling Ivomandus. Yet each bodyguard looked at each other to see if this was the right thing to do. Was it right to kill the son of the man you were protecting?

"Julius! Enough!" Oroles roared at the general, as he ran forth to stop this.

"Seize that man!" Lucius commanded. The Mighty Three quickly tackled Oroles to the ground and subdued him where he could only watch the tragedy that was about to unfold. "I will have no man interfere!" Lucius hollered before turning to his son, "You have a choice, you will either kill Ivomandus, or you shall walk with him in the afterlife."

This cannot be… Vitus had no control of his body, he couldn't stop shaking and he couldn't stop squeezing the iron dagger within his hands. His knees were buckling and he felt like he was prepared to vomit once more. He looked at Ivomandus, then at Oroles, then back to his father; whose gaze held the anger of the Gods within his eyes. This was it. The bodyguards surrounding him, their swords drawn on him, Oroles being seized, the fire of death within his father's eyes. Vitus could feel his hot tears roll down his face as he came to disturbing realization: Father…You would not think twice about killing me…wouldn't you?

His own father, whom he shared many great memories with, was going to kill him. He didn't even see him as a son anymore. Vitus broke down and started whimpering in front of Lucius, he didn't want to die…not by his father's hand. Vitus swallowed hard and gripped the dagger tightly to his chest. He peered over at Ivomandus and clenched the dagger even tighter. Ivomandus shook his head in sorrow.

Vitus walked over to the kneeling man, each step he took felt like a mile and his legs weighed a ton, yet somehow he made it. With his left hand, he raised Ivomandus' head back to expose his neck. And with the dagger in his trembling right hand, he placed it underneath the man's Adam's apple. All eyes were on him. The Romans were dead silent. The Gauls watching, shouted in their own language for Vitus not to kill their chieftain. Yet Vitus tuned them all out, in that moment, it was only him and Ivomandus.

Ivomandus, the kind old chieftain who wanted nothing but peace, gazed into the eyes of his executioner. His eyes told the story of a simple man, who Life had made him the ultimate joke of, all he wanted, was peace and yet he never understood that peace cannot exist when there is total war. Yet Vitus was the only man who wanted the same thing, peace. He understood Ivomandus; and in a way Ivomandus understood Vitus. He could see that Vitus was reluctant to kill him; this wasn't the way to end a war, this wasn't the way to end anything. This was sending a message of fear; no true good could have come from this. But nothing could be changed now. Ivomandus saw it for what it was and accepted it. He accepted that he will not be killed by a cruel Roman, and it set his heart at ease. He subtly nodded to Vitus, telling him that he was ready to die. Vitus sobbed more, before he finally had the will to do it.

"I am sorry…" Vitus muttered weakly. He didn't need to say it. Ivomandus could see the reluctance in his eyes, but Vitus didn't need to say it. He only said it so he could tell himself that this was not his fault.

Vitus pulled his arm with a mighty jerk and felt the dagger's edge go through Ivomandus' neck. Blood poured out of the chieftain's neck like a bucket of water being poured out over some steps. A few loud gurgles could be heard as he choked on his own blood. Ivomandus' eyes remained fixated on Vitus, even as he fell forwards on his stomach, his eyes stayed on Vitus.

An anguished wail had broken the silence; Lucius peered over his shoulder and saw that it was coming from the chieftain's daughters, bawling that their loving father is forever stripped from the world. Lucius changed his focus and stared into the eyes of all the Gauls present. He could see that their hope, love, and strength were utterly demolished. Lucius chuckled in triumph.

"Sheathe your swords!" Lucius ordered his bodyguards. The Romans quickly sheathed their swords and returned to their general's side. The Mighty Three promptly released Oroles; Aelianus even helped the Thracian to his feet; his eyes still hooked on Vitus.

"Cossutius…" Lucius said calmly, "Now that the chieftain is dead, send out the First Cohort to round up more prisoners. Only the 1st Century stays in the center to oversee the prisoners.

"Yes, General." Cossutius saluted before ordering the stagnant men of the First Cohort.

The men of the Cohort scrambled throughout the square rounding up the last of the Gauls, yet only Vitus remained still, his eyes lost on the body of the chieftain. He could not turn his sight away from the pooling blood that flowed freely out of the man's neck. The crimson blood staining the cream color pavement of the square for all eternity; keeping the knowledge forever ingrained that Vitus was the culprit in this unholy murder.

"You did it," Lucius said, walking up behind Vitus. "You killed this man, and now his blood forever stains the earth…excellent. You did what was expected of you. I want to offer apologies for threatening to kill you; I did not mean it, you should have known that I would have never ordered it. I only wanted you to kill your first man. And you have succ—"

Vitus snapped out of his horror-filled nightmare. Did he hear his father right? Did he say that the entire threat was just a hoax? All that fear of being slain by his father, all the inner turmoil that Vitus had to endure, was for nothing?! Vitus could feel his entire body constrict, he could feel his teeth gnashing together, a burning sensation within his chest. The dagger in his hand felt light as a feather and he could feel the intoxicating pleasure of holding it in his hand, the sweet taste of the blade going through his father's own heart. It felt beautiful. Never before has Vitus felt such anger in his life, it was overwhelming. His own father, threatened to kill him, but it was all a trick! To kill a righteous man?! How dare he!

Overcome by rage, Vitus screamed as he lunged at his father with the dagger in his hand. Lucius simply stopped Vitus by grabbing the wrist that held the dagger. Lucius stared into his son's face and proudly smiled at him; for the first time in his life he has seen Vitus held the fire of the sun within his eyes. Rage had clouded his vision. Vitus could not see, speak, recognize or think. He could only kill. Lucius' smile broadened. Vitus held pure killing intent in his eyes. Even though it was directed at Lucius, it did not matter. Lucius' gambit had worked; his son was finally a soldier.

Lucius smacked Vitus to the ground with his free hand, skillfully disarming the dagger from Vitus' grasp in one fluid motion. Lucius had hit Vitus so hard that he had knocked Vitus out of his blind blood rage. Vitus only looked up at his father who stood tall in front of him, smiling down on him.

"I am proud Vitus," he said earnestly, "Despite making fool of me in front of the Cohort; I have seen the fire in your eyes that I haven't truly witnessed since you fought your brother. You have finally become a soldier."

"You threatened to kill me! Your own son!" Vitus roared in primal anger, finally being able to form words.

"As I have told you, it was a ploy to get you to kill your first man," Lucius explained.

"Not that way! I did not seek to kill a man that way! Father, he was innocent! You only wanted me to kill him to further embarrass him! I wanted to kill a man in battle, not murder him in view of everyone!"

"There is no murder in war, Vitus. You will come to understand this," Lucius remarked, still perplexed why Vitus felt like he committed a grievous crime.

"Father, you murdered them all! You lied to me! You gave me your word that you would not destroy the Candevaci!"

"And you are correct, my son. I kept my word, I did not destroy them," Lucius coolly replied.

"What? Speak sense. What is all of this, all the death and all those innocents who are dying?" Vitus demanded to learn.

"The Gauls brought it on themselves, they fought back, my instructions for my soldiers were to seize every Gaul they could find, and kill any who resisted. But I did not destroy them, as you can see; the majority of the Candevaci are here in this square."

"Then what is to be of their fate?"

"Simple, they shall be enslaved."

"What?" Vitus stuttered, heartbroken upon hearing his father explanation. "Slaves?"

"These Gauls will now be forced to work under us, their new masters. That was the ultimate outcome."

"But Father…slaves, that is…a fate worse than death! You gave me word—"

"I have told you that I gave you my word that they would not be destroyed, I said nothing about them being enslaved. Besides, it is for the best. These barbarians will finally know proper Roman society once they are under our whips."

Vitus stood back up to stare his father in the eyes, "But why? Why go through all this senseless…horror? They could have made a new home in peace? Why have you done this?"

Lucius dug down in his armor and took out a money pouch and dangled it in front of Vitus with a smile, "For coin of course. You see, Vitus…financing such campaigns takes a painful toll on our treasury, specifically mine. Do you know what I have to pay to manage such a legion as this? I need to pay for weapons, armor, recruitment, food for the men to eat, the soldiers' pensions, strong horses and mules for our baggage train, mercenaries, utilities for the legionaries to use and tents to sleep in, plus my personal ancillaries that I have to make such campaign easier for everyone; and the list extends to the ends of the earth. Vitus, war is not cheap. And while we receive needed coin from precious trade, nothing is more lucrative than slaves. For 800 of these Gauls, I could maybe make up to…7500 denarii! Do you even grasp the fragile concept of what I will be able to do with that much denarii?"

"That is your justification?! Coin? To pay off your debts and expenses; there are much more noble ways to pay for such things! Who on this accursed world planted this seed of toxicity into your head?!" Vitus shrieked.

"There was one only person that influenced my decision; and that was you."

Vitus could feel the sudden drop of his heart. "What? I-I-I did no such thing!" Vitus bitterly protested.

"But you did…when you came to me and begged that I would not destroy the last Gallic clan, I begrudgingly accepted because I loved you. But I am a man of my word and I instantly regretted what I had agreed with you. So I sat in my tent, planning what would be the most appropriate action to deal with the Gauls. Then, the idea grew within my skull, I needed coin to help sustain my legion; and slaves would be a most proper investment. I have not enslaved another city in so long that I nearly forgotten to do so. So as you understand, my son, if you did not approach me with hurt eyes begging for the mercy of the Gauls, I would have destroyed them completely, and thus ending their eventual prolonged misery of servitude." A smirk suddenly rose on Lucius' face, "But now, because of you, they will be servants of Rome and now I will have coin for the legion. And for that, I express my gratitude to you Vitus, for giving me this plan for the Gauls."

Vitus was in horror. His stomach burned so badly that he thought it was eating itself from the inside. He could feel the prickling tears forming in the corner of his eyes. He shook his head fervently, trying to deny this great crime. But no matter how much he tried to deny it; he could not escape from the undeniable irony; that he damned the people to an eternal suffering because he wanted to save them from a quick death. His vision suddenly turned blurry and the world seemed to be spinning in circles. He lost his balance and collapsed to the floor and once again began to cry; for this pain, this suffering, this death, this eternal torture, WAS ALL HIS FAULT.

"General, may I have word?" a Roman man asked Lucius. Lucius turned around and he was greeted by a man wearing exquisite and luxurious robes and was fat to the point that his belly could be seen through his robes. Lucius nearly chuckled to himself in how out of place this man looked inside a sacked city. Behind the man were several other equally well-dressed Romans who pined around Lucius. Yet the man who addressed the Roman General was one of his ancillaries; the man was a Lanista, the owner of gladiators. The rest of the men were ordinary slave traders.

"Of course, how are you this afternoon?" Lucius politely asked the lanista, completely ignoring his hurting son.

"Your men have slain quite a number of barbarians," the man said uneasily, a little distraught by all of the corpses littered across the village, "Yet I see here in this square that you saved a lot of Gauls!"

"Of course, take your pick of the finest men in this village to be gladiators in you ludus! You will make serious coin, as I would hope that you pay me up front for the coin I desire."

"You will get your coin, General. After I inspect the stock!" the lanista eagerly said.

"General, please do not forget about me, I need some women for whores in your service camp!" one slave trader said.

"I need some children, they make perfect soulless slaves when they come of age!" another one spoke up.

"Whoever isn't fit to be a gladiator I will gladly take to work in the mines at Lancinia!" a third trader offered.

"You will all see the wares of my prisoners! We have two hours before my men completely burn this village, so decide with quick haste!" Lucius gleefully announced, most anxious to receive money from his recently caught prisoners.

Oroles bitterly stared at Lucius conversing with the slave traders. He bit down on his lip, trying his best not to yell at any obscenities at the Roman general. Cursing at him wouldn't fix anything. He looked at Vitus who was on the ground crying his young eyes out. Oroles walked over to him and compassionately helped him up to his feet and walked him over to his horse. As Oroles helped Vitus to get on top of Romulus, he heard the crying of a toddler. Amidst all the din of the raging fires and the shrieking Gauls, this one crying toddler stuck out to Oroles the most. The Thracian turned around to see where it was coming from and he saw the scene. A slaver forcibly yanking a two year old boy away from his crying parents, as Roman soldiers pushed the parents back with spears. The mother cried vigorously for her son as the father tried his best to console her; but it was clear that she could not be consoled; for her son was being taken away from them forever to live a life in Rome as some Roman patrician's family adopted son. The boy's culture, the boy's lineage, his own Gallic name; will forever be lost to him and ultimately the little memories of what he has of his parents will be lost forever as well. He will never truly love his real mother or learn from his real father. Seeing what was happening before him, Oroles buried his head and turned around to get on his horse, weeping as he mounted his stallion.

After the execution of the Candevaci chieftain, Ivomandus; the Romans stayed in the village for two more hours, collecting slaves and having them traded before completing razing the village to the ground. The prisoners who proved most troublesome were promptly crucified in a large ring surrounding their burning settlement, set as a warning to all those who oppose Rome. Lucius sent some of his trophies to Rome, along with 50 Gallic prisoners and the body of the chieftain to signify the destruction of Gaul.

Yet overlooking the burning village on a hill to the north; were two German riders who sat on top of their horses on top of the hill; witnessing the end of the extermination. Both Germans looked at each other and nodded, then rode off into the sunset to warn their Germanic king of what has transpired.

That night in the Roman camp, there was a ceremonious uproar amongst the legionaries for the final destruction of their long hated enemies. It did not matter that the Gallic king Segovax was still trying to capture Samarobriva, because for the moment, the king had no country and thus he was nothing but a lowly rebel. This was truly a jubilant moment for every man in the Twenty-Eighth legion; everyone except Vitus who would have spent his night alone in tent, too distraught to party. But his father forced his youngest son to join him with the rest of the men. Lucius gave every man in the legion a free cup of wine and made a heartwarming celebration in which he thanked each Roman for their years of dedication to the annihilation of the Gauls. The cohorts who attacked the village received special commendations from Lucius and the rest of the cohorts for spectacular service. In the dark hours of the night, men of the First Cohort sat around the fire with the Mighty Three and discussed their day of debauchery inside the Gallic village like they were schoolchildren.

"Today was a most beautiful fucking day!" Metellus exclaimed, vividly downing his sixth cup of wine. "Metellus finally fucked something after an entire month! Metellus enjoyed the most succulent Gallic cunt in that village! Her tightness brought me waves of pleasure!"

"I know the feeling. I first pulled this woman out of a hut and forced my cock inside of her, than an hour later I found this boy and I fucked his shithole till it bled!" bragged the first legionary.

"You should examine your cocks for rot, you cannot freely fuck any Gaul you find," a second legionary argued.

"Then how come I spotted you with a woman underneath you?" Arminius asked, raising his eyebrow with a smile.

The second legionary laughed and said, "Because I pick the pure virgins. The tightness is a gift from the Gods, and I love hearing the "popping" sound of my cock exiting her cunt! Plus she is free of any diseases that could shrivel your cock and make you piss blue!"

"You cannot argue with that!" a third legionary said. He raised his cup of wine in the air and made a toast. "To Julius, for destroying those damned craven Gauls, once and for all!"

All the men toasted to the accomplishment. Yet only Aelianus was silent throughout the entire gossiping affair.

"Aelianus, why are silent? This is a celebration," Arminius said.

"I understand, but…you were all there when the Commander refused to kill the chieftain, and the General was about to kill him," Aelianus stated, the jovial mood ended.

"Yes, I remember. I cannot believe that the Commander refused the General's orders," Arminius said.

"Neither can I."

"I thought the Commander had gone mad."

"I surely thought the General would have killed him."

"Would the General have actually gone through with it?" Arminius asked.

"Of course not! The Commander is his son," the third legionary said.

"You must have been drunk at the moment. Did you not see the fire in the General's eyes, he would have killed his son," Metellus slurred.

"I do not know, but why did the Commander hesitate?" the third legionary asked.

"Because the Commander is weak!" Metellus belched.

"Mind your tongue!" Aelianus snapped.

"Hey, Metellus is just saying what Metellus is thinking," Metellus tried to defend himself, "He hesitated to send that Gaul to the afterlife."

"Maybe it was his first kill?" Arminius suggested.

"That does not fucking matter! If Metellus was him, than the chieftain would have been dead before the General would have asked. Thus the Commander is weak in Metellus' eyes."

"The Commander is not weak, remember a month ago how he bested his elder brother in contest?" the first legionary brought up.

"Do not even bring up the elder brother; he is even weaker than the Commander. The brother could not even wound a rebel peasant to save his life!" Metellus jeered. Everyone except for the stoic Aelianus laughed at the comment, remembering Proculus' abysmal performance.

"You are correct in that regard, yet the Commander spent time with us years ago," the second legionary remembered.

"You are right, and Metellus acknowledges that. But now, he has traded us Roman legionaries for those Thracian Auxiliaries," Metellus hissed in a drunken stupor.

"You are right, Metellus. I have spotted the Commander enter the Thracians camp with surprising frequency!" the first legionary said.

"That Thracian lover even gave our food to them!" the second legionary remembered.

"That is right, he did; and do you know what else, he has been spending his time with that fucking Thracian shit, Oroles!" Metellus yelled.

"He has! Why does the Commander follow that man around like a dog? Does he not know what that Thracian tried to do to the General?" Arminius asked.

"Clearly he does not. If things continue on this path with the Thracians, then I will not serve under the Commander's command once he obtains this legion!" Metellus adamantly stated.

"We will follow whoever we have to follow!" Aelianus reminded Metellus, standing up to leave the group.

"Where the fuck are you going to, Aelianus?" the third legionary asked.

"To leave such drunken company," he said as he left them.

Aelianus took a walk to the outskirts of the back of the camp to clear his head. Every now and then he would grow tired of Metellus' bellyaching and bullshit, but sometimes he did have a point. It was odd to see Commander Vitus hang around the Thracian Oroles like they were friends; does he not know that the men of the legion see everything? That when he does this, he is creating discontent for himself. Regardless if he knows or not, he is ultimately still the Commander of the Twenty-Eighth, second only to the General; and Aelianus would proudly follow his duty as a Roman soldier and follow them anywhere.

In the dead of night, Aelianus could hear some faint noise coming from the road that led out of the camp. The noise slowly grew louder and started heading straight for Aelianus. He looked from side-to-side and was alarmed that no sentries were posted, they were too busy being drunk to guard the camp, it was just Aelianus there at the edge of the camp.

The noise quickly formed into galloping hooves of horses. Aelianus clenched his teeth at the thought, Riders! They are heading this way…it sounds like…two of them…two horses are coming. From the sound of the galloping they were close to the camp and would be where Aelianus was in 40 seconds. Aelianus drew his sword, confident that he alone could take out two riders. But then a thought popped into his head, Wait, they are coming from the south, where the legion was a few days ago; are we being followed, if so by whom and by how many? These must be scouts…or could they be messengers from Alesia? I do not know, but I must do something. Aelianus stuck to his plan of ambushing the riders and ran into the bush and waited for them to pass by.

Back in the camp, Lucius, Antonius, and a sullen Vitus were walking throughout the camp celebrating with the rest of the men. Seeing their victorious General, Captain, and Commander with them boosted the men's spirits immeasurably. Yet Vitus wasn't in a cheering mood which irritated his father.

"Vitus, you are to smile and talk with our soldiers," Lucius reminded his aloof son.

"Yes father, I will do so," Vitus replied with disinterest.

"Come now Vitus, just show some joy in the defeat of the Gauls, the men will go crazy for it," Antonius said. Vitus only half-heartedly nodded. He couldn't do anything that night; his heart was too heavy with guilt.

Just then, a messenger ran forth to the general and saluted while trying to catch his breath.

"Speak," Lucius commanded the messenger.

"General, legionary Aelianus of the First Century, First Cohort has said that he has captured some infiltrators outside camp. He says that you need to come see."

The three men looked at each with confused expressions and followed the messenger to the outskirts of camp where a good size crowd was growing. Once they made it to the front, the three men bore witness to Aelianus wielding a torch and standing in front of two mysteriously cloaked figures standing up.

"What is this, Aelianus? Did you do this?" the General demanded, eying the cloaked men suspiciously.

"Yes I did General. I heard their horses approach the camp from the south and so I ambushed them and took them as my prisoners. Judging by their food rations and maps, they were following us since we left Alesia. And General, you would want to see who they are. You on the left, reveal yourself first," Aelianus commanded.

The cloaked figure on the left removed the hood that surrounded his face slowly and revealed a young man in his mid-20s. He had long brown hair that went to his shoulders and a neatly trimmed brown mustache. He was tall and had a well-built body and a relative handsomeness as well only accented by his beige eyes.

"Why should I want to see who he is?" the General asked, not impressed by the man.

"It is not this man General, it is this one," Aelianus said, emphasizing the man on the right.

The man standing on the right hesitantly removed his cloak and hood and revealed himself. Everyone's jaw dropped simultaneously. Antonius dropped his full cup of wine. Vitus squinted hard at the man to see if his eyes were playing tricks on him, but once he realized who stood before him; he covered his mouth in shock. Lucius took a few steps back, shaking his head in disbelief.

The man on the right had a strong, straight build. He was extremely handsome, with every single muscle on his body being perfectly tone and chiseled. He stood at six feet and two inches with short straight auburn hair and lightly trimmed beard stubble with a strong, handsome jawline. He had a noticeable scar on the bridge of his nose that accented his entire face and he was dressed in a Roman General's armor with a flowing red cape that drooped down to his thighs. He was the eldest son of Lucius Julius and brother to Vitus, he was Proculus Julius.

"Greetings…Father…" the eldest son spoke to his stunned father.

"P-P-Proculus…"

The eldest son arrives, but why is he here?

Once again, I like to thank everyone who is continually reading this fic and note that it is keeping me committed to the story.

-Kanuro5