Kanuro5: Hello everyone, I've been wanting to write this story since Invictus ended. Unfortunately, it took three years to get this process started...

This is story is a spinoff/sequel to Invictus that will focus on the barbarian factions.

Also, you do not necessarily need to read the previous story to understand this one. This story will allude to several things that occurred in the Invictus, but you can read this story by itself and still follow along. Enjoy

Prologue

185 B.C.

Belgica, the northern region between Gallia and Germania.

The moon was full, a bright white eye that looked down on this auspicious night when the armies of the three great barbarian nations feasted in brotherhood.

The King of the Britons, Ingomar of the Iceni tribe, had celebrated his 43rd birthday today with the King of the Germanians, and the King of the Gauls. The festivity was attended by all three barbarian armies of the Britons, Germanians, and Gauls, the celebration doubling over the Barbarian Confederation's victory over the Scythian Invasion.

For six long years, the declining Scythian kingdom fought against the Germanians to consolidate their hold in the West. They gained many victories and displaced the Germanians from their homes. Within two years of the war, the Germanic king called for an alliance of among the people of the Britons and Gauls to band together to overcome the vile Easterners. Four years of brutal fighting had occurred, thousands of men and women were killed. But the war ended a week ago with the Confederation forcing the Scythians off the Germanic lands for good.

The Three Tribes of this confederation have been at war for centuries, all seeking to attain land and game for their people, committing acts of vengeance to settle blood feuds, raiding each other's lands to attain plunder the other tribe attained in war. For centuries, they were renowned in the ancient world for killing each other.

And now, they all feasted.

To celebrate the victory and the king's birthday, Ingomar held the revelry within his lands in the town of Samarobriva, the focal town in the Belgica region. It was a modest town with plenty of homes that housed the multitude of Briton farmers and their wives and children. In this town, Britons, Germanians, and Gauls interacted with one another. They ate gluttonously, they drank to excess, and they fornicated with the Briton women with open pleasure. It was a great time to celebrate.

And the Briton King, Ingomar, who as of today had turned 43, was celebrating with his family. Though his wife was back on the main island of Britannia, he was having fun presently with his two sons and only daughter. He cheered and drank, watching his eldest son fighting in hand-to-hand competition against his opponents, while his other two children watched on.

His eldest son, Ivomagus, was in his 22nd year. Strong, tall, and fierce in battle, everyone knew he was Ingomar's true successor, and no man doubted it. He was proficient in many weapons and his tactics and bravery were second-to-none. He loved to brawl and was the proudest of the Britons. He was everything a man wanted in his eldest son.

His second child was his daughter, Keyne, who was 20 years old. She was a charming woman with a sharp wit. She wasn't the fairest of the Britons, yet she was still regarded as attractive. One could consider her lackadaisical with her airheaded attitude, but Ingomar never regarded it as strange and loved that feature about his daughter. She was married four years ago, and she had given Ingomar a grandson with her husband. Ingomar smiled in recollection of his beautiful grandson.

His youngest child was his second son, Casticos, who was 17 years old. He was of good size and a good-hearted man who fought in battle courageously, yet he was not near the size nor possessed the strength of his elder brother. He relied on his wits more than his raw strength. He had a timid air about him upon first glance, but Ingomar knew there was steel within his bones, he just wondered when Casticos could channel it effectively for all to see.

At this moment, Ivomagus was in a makeshift ring, fighting off two Germanic opponents who were quite sizable. The only reason it was 2-1 was because Ivomagus requested such a handicap. He was having a good night, he bested five opponents and was undefeated, and he still felt strong. Casticos and Keyne cheered on their brother, Ingomar offered words of caution and strategy for his son. Ivomagus spun around and winked at his family.

These two Germanians charged at him, and the Briton prince did a countercharge of his own, running headlong into their bodies. They grabbed him and started pummeling heavy blows upon him, Ivomagus caged his guard and seized a moment to break out when one of his attackers overextended his punch. The prince sprang from the two and charged again, delivering a solid punch to one of the Germanians. An audible crunch could be heard, which resulted in a large "ooh" from the crowd. That Germanian collapsed in that single punch. The sole Germanian grappled the Briton and the two wrestled into the dirt. The Briton spun over the German and got behind him with a tight sleeper hold. He wrapped his legs around the German's stomach and tightened his grip. The crowd was cheering for Ivomagus and continued to cheer until the Germanian passed out.

Ivomagus got to his feet and spun around in victory, laughing it up and enjoying the adulation. "That is what happens when one hunts a Stag of the North!"

"That is my son!" Ingomar's voice echoed proudly among the cheers.

Ivomagus hopped out of the ring to hug his brother, sister, and his father, then requesting for some heavy ale to drink.

"By the Gods! Can you believe I was close to being drunk when I bested those two?" he remarked in a near stupor.

"Oh I could believe so upon watching you," his father said. "You charge without thinking. They could have easily overpowered you if proper teamwork were applied."

Ivomagus finished chugging his ale, and unearthed a toothy grin, " 'Could' and 'if', Father."

The king sighed listlessly, "Youth breeds arrogance… I once stood as you did, yet considerably wiser."

The son's grin did not break, "Oh, you believe you can best me, old man?"

Ingomar lightly slapped him in the jaw, laughing as he did so, "You dare call me 'old', Ivomagus? Fine then, await here, and once I'm done speaking with the kings, you shall see what an 'old man' is capable of, boy."

Ivomagus whooed with invigoration, "I accept, Father! Take your time, I shall whittle you a cane in your absence." Ivomagus hopped right back in the ring, "All right, you rank goats. Which one of you is next?" he boastfully demanded to the challengers.

Casticos mused loudly, "I wonder how many more opponents will be required to take Ivomagus down?"

Keyne answered with a question, "I wonder how many more drinks will be required to take Ivomagus down?"

Casticos turned to her, "How could you say that?"

"Did you smell his breath just now? He drank a ship's worth of ale. I bet five more cups of ale shall do him in," she smirked.

She looked to the Briton women and the screaming Germanic women warriors who flirted openly at the prince, "Or… perhaps the sights of tits and cunt shall do him in?"

Casticos looked at the women cheering, "Perhaps. Ivomagus is quite popular."

She smirked mischievously, "You are popular too, Casticos. You just need to cast that fear aside and bed a woman. The act of copulation is not that difficult, Casticos."

"Uh… perhaps they are not eager to… well… with me…"

Keyne suddenly grabbed Casticos' crotch and laughed, "There are plenty Germanic women who are eager to fuck a man. You got a cock, go shed that virgin flower of yours, Casticos."

Casticos was red-faced, swatting her hand away, "Stop that! I can lie with a woman when I desire!"

She laughed rowdily and slapped her younger brother's back. "I know you can, Casticos," she said earnestly with a smile. "I seek for you to enjoy yourself. Now go out there and make a Germanian shrieker happy." She kissed his forehead and walked away.

Casticos was still blushing, "Father, why is Keyne so strange? Admit it, mother tripped when she was pregnant, correct?"

Ingomar playfully slapped Casticos in the back of his head, "Do not speak ill of family, son."

Casticos rubbed his head from the blow, "For what purpose shall I not?"

"Because family is crucial to survival, especially for us. We cannot war or feud with our blood. No matter how much they aggravate us."

"I understand, Father."

"Besides, your sister is right about one thing. You have plenty opportunity here to lose your virginity."

"Wh-What?! How do you know I—I mean, for what reason do you suspect that?!"

Ingomar was laughing boisterously, rustling his son's blonde hair. "I am your father, Casticos. I know everything."

The youngest prince looked over to his boisterous brother for a moment, being adored by the crowd. Casticos turned to his father, "Father, do you believe I have what it takes to lead?"

"From where does this come from?"

"I… I lose my breath when I talk to women, I can probably knock out a man with five punches while Ivomagus can do so with one, and I am oft overlooked by others. Once my brother becomes king, what shall be my role? What can I lead men in?"

The father placed his hand on his son's shoulder, "There is more to being a king than women and war, Casticos. A king is a man who thinks three steps ahead of others, not two, and certainly not one. A king must always consider the long term of his actions. He must commit to his decisions and take the path for his people, even if they cannot see it or agree with it. True, a man must look and act like a king, physically, but they must think like a king and strategize like a king. They must make the difficult choices. And I know you do such things, Casticos."

"Truly, Father?"

He smirked down at his son, "Truly. I see that in you, Ivomagus, and Keyne. I cannot offer ideas in what your role shall be once I pass. You must determine that path for yourself. Remember to keep the Gods in your prayers and keep family above all. You can lead. Yes, you can. All of my children are kings. Even you, Casticos."

He was nodding with confidence, "Gratitude, Father. I, feel better."

"I am glad." The Briton king looked up at the men that called his name. "Excuse me, Casticos. I am being called. We shall talk about this later."

The King of the Britons was being summoned to dine with the Kings of Germania and Gallia at a raised platform in front of the village of Samarobriva. Ingomar made his way to the platform and was warmly greeted by the monarchs.

The King of the Gauls, Budic, was a man in his mid-40s and had ruled Gallia for a decade. He was of the Averni tribe of the Gauls and was elected by his peers upon the death of the previous Gallic king. He was a thin man but a graceful and cunning warrior. He had a thick beard that draped to his chest and he held an infectious laugh that others would classify as jolly.

The King of the Germanians, Adalmun, was a man of ruthless pragmatism, and boasted the honor of being the youngest of the kings at the age of 27. He was of the Batavi tribe and won the title of king after slaying the previous Germanic king in a challenge to the throne and quelling a revolt led by the dead king's sons four years ago. It was this man that formed the Confederation between Germania, Gallia, and Britannia. He also held the distinction of being the son-in-law to Ingomar, after marrying Keyne four years ago to formally ally Britannia with Germania.

Ingomar looked at each man and judged their tribes' politics. These two kings were chosen from different tribes amongst their people. Commonly, a new Germanic or Gallic king was chosen from different tribes. There were some exceptions where sons directly succeeded their fathers, but such was uncommon for the Gauls and Germanians who valued different elections among their tribes to battle the notion of one tribe repeatedly consolidating power.

Unlike these spokes on a wheel, the Britons had what could be considered a hereditary monarchy, for all the Kings of the Britons that were elected were of the Iceni, and the sons of the previous king. Out of the scores of tribes that populated the island, the Iceni were the tribe who were viewed as the most honorable, steadfast, and cunning. Britannia had always seemed to flourish if it was ruled by the Iceni, and so for the past century, Britannia had been ruled by this tribe.

Budic the Gaul rubbed his nose with a snicker, "I witnessed the match your son had against the two Germanians. What a fighter. You must hold immense pride in your son, Ingomar."

The Briton smiled warmly, "I am. I also hold pride in his younger brother, he is an upcoming warrior."

"Hmm, which one is your favorite?"

Ingomar rolled his eyes, the ale was making his head swim, "A father should not label favorites upon his sons," he declared in a tone he thought wise.

The two kings jeered him playfully. "What kind of woman's words are those?" the Gallic king guffawed.

" 'A father should not label favorites upon his sons'," Adalmun the Germanian mocked in an effeminate pitch.

Ingomar laughed lowly. "You two say such, but Budic, do you hold favorites among your sons?"

"I mock, but I understand your words," the Gallic king answered. "Those two over there," he pointed to two burly warriors who were engaging with one another in a drinking contest, "Sarnon and Praxus, I love those two as if the sun is burning. I cannot place one above the other."

Ingomar smiled, "I thought so."

Adalmun exclaimed, "Ha! Both of you are such women! My firstborn is my proudest achievement."

"But did not your wife birth him a year ago? And you only have the one child," Budic clarified.

"True, he is my only son. But I shall have more, and Fornanus shall always be my favorite. I can see his future; as my eldest, he shall be a giant who consumes lightening and shits fire!"

The three kings roared with laughter. Drums were being beaten with the most exotic of rhythms. Everyone was filled with raucous laughter. Ingomar looked on to this joyous occasion, this feeling of peace… what beauty there was in it.

"Know that I truly hold this moment to heart," Ingomar smiled.

The Germanian turned to the two kings, "So do I, Father, and yet… this peace between us shall not last. Our people have always been at war…"

Budic was nodding sourly, "Indeed, I fear this love between our people shall not last past the next generation."

"Then we must do what we can to forge this bond in iron," Adalmun resolved.

The cool air was invigorating, Ingomar inhaled through his nose, "I believe that we have forged such bond in four years of blood. And marriage…"

Adalmun smiled to his father-in-law, "Your daughter has already wed me, Father. But Budic and I believe you can do one more favor for us, to strengthen this Confederation of ours."

The last of the ale in his cup went down his throat before Ingomar asked in a laugh, "For what more would you have me provide, my son?"

"Provide us your territory on the mainland."

Ingomar stopped laughing. His smile was still present, but he had stopped laughing. Did he perhaps drink too much?

"Wh-What? Repeat yourself."

"Well to us, Budic and I, you hold an entire island north to us, the size to which none of us on the mainland can even fathom. Your island perhaps is greater than our lands. We do not know, and you hold sway over an entire island."

Budic stepped in, "Actually, there is also a second isle to the east of your main island, is there not? So, you have two massive islands under your dominion."

Adalmun nodded, "The Gaul speaks truth. In addition to those islands, you have this region of Belgica, and the town of Samarobriva under your control. This region is in between the Germanic and Gaul lands. Our lands are splintered by your piece of territory here on the mainland. Ceding such lands to our people shall be seen as worthy concessions by all."

" 'Concessions' you say?" Ingomar wanted to audibly scoff. "What concessions have the Germanians provided the Britons and the Gauls? You brought us into your war against the Scythians."

"Quite simply, the concessions of protecting you Britons safe from your enemies."

Ingomar leaned forward in his chair, his brow was furrowed, "Explain."

Adalmun reclined in his chair, his eyes drooping into the alcohol in his cup. "This region you are in within the mainland, it is bordered to the east and south by Germania. And it is also bordered to the west and south by Gallia. To the north is the watery channel to Britannia, your home isle. You are protected on all sides from foreigners. But what borders our lands? To Germania in the east is Scythia, the southeast is Dacia, and to the south is Rome."

Budic belched his alcohol before speaking, "Gallia has the Iberians to the southwest, and Rome to the south as well. Gallia and Germania are surrounded by enemies, especially those ambitious Romans to the south."

"Rome…" Ingomar then spat out some phlegm. "I hear they are filthy city-dwellers; what problems can arise from dealing with those creatures?"

Adalmun replied, "Have you heard of their current conquests?"

"No."

"The Romans are moving west; they are already at war with the Iberians in their peninsula. In the east, I hear they are fighting Greeks."

Budic's nose was wrinkling in his thoughts, "Indeed, and not even a full twenty years have passed since the Romans crushed Carthage and Hannibal."

Adalmun placed his cup down and started peeling a vegetable with his knife. "The Romans are expanding everywhere. South, East, and West…" his eyes shot up at Ingomar, piercingly, "How much longer until they start expanding North?"

Ingomar shook his head, "The Romans dare not venture in the forests of the North. It shall swallow them all and spit them out. The Romans are no threat to true men who do not hide behind armor."

Budic the Gaul clicked his tongue, "Behold, that is your attitude towards Rome because your territory does not border them. We keep you safe from foreign invaders on the mainland. No faction in this world knows where your island is, they can only speculate. No ships have ever crossed to your lands. We protect you, even if you are not aware of it. And for this, we ask concessions for your territory."

"Hmm…" was what Ingomar grunted lowly. "I can see reasoning behind such way of thought. But I do not agree to concede lands to you. If I did grant such an act, then my people shall be isolated from the rest of the world. My proud people would be exiles."

"Ingomaaaaar," Adalmun dragged out the last syllable in a playful manner, "You shall not be exiled. You can still sail throughout the coasts and land in our territories. With your compliance, the alliance shall still be held, and the Confederation will be strengthened."

"This region is our only foothold in the mainland, my people have lived here for generations. This is how we conduct trade between tribes and mainlanders, this is how we are fed knowledge of what is occurring in the world, this foothold of Belgica is vital for us Britons. Indeed, we hold two large islands, but they grow practically barren during the winter months and in times of blizzard. We cannot cede territory rights."

Adalmun stared at him, "Are you certain of this, Ingomar? Perhaps if we speak upon it more—"

"No, I believed we were done with politics when we elected to feast. Tonight, is our victory celebration and the observance of my birth. I shall hear no more of this."

Ingomar looked over his shoulder to the Gallic king. Budic's eyes were narrowed, and the left side of his mouth was twitching. The Brittonic king could spot the Gaul squeezing his own knee tightly, seemingly out of fury.

Ingomar then looked to his Germanic son-in-law, this king looked less furious, but equally disappointed. He had stopped peeling his vegetable. His eyes held onto Ingomar's. His tongue made a quick wipe over his lips before he rubbed his mouth with his hands. Once those fingers crossed his lips, the Germanian started laughing.

"You are quite right, Father! We are at a feast! Let us do away with politics, forever!"

Adalmun turned to the festive armies and shouted, "Germanians! Let the ale flow with absolute vigor! Let the ale flow!"

The Germanians all cheered, as did the Gauls and Britons.

Adalmun turned back to Ingomar, his mouth gave him a genial smile and his eyes were relaxed.

"Well, Ingomar, we attempted to be civil."

Adalmun tossed the vegetable over his shoulder. With the knife he used for peeling, he drove it deep through the top of Ingomar's left knee. The Britonnic king recoiled with a screech.

In that horrid second that felt like an hour, Ingomar felt sharp steel pierce him in the small of his back. Budic laughed cruelly behind him.

Both of the kings retracted their knives from the Briton and forced him to the floor of the platform. Ingomar yelled out in agony. Adalmun looked to Budic and asked him, "Why did you stab him in that part of the back?"

Budic looked at him with a twisted smile, "How else would you get to hear a king make such a noise?"

The tearing of muscles in his back was unbearable, he couldn't feel his left leg, except for the burning wound in his knee. He couldn't even speak; he was still reeling from the shock of their knives. What?! What have you done to me?! A typhoon of screams and cursing arose around Ingomar. They came from within the three armies. Yes, rise with anger and assist me! Assist your king! Ingomar raised his head from the platform, the sight that had greeted him was the slaughtering of his army by both Gallic and Germanic warriors.

Through the flickering flames that were now engulfing Briton homes, the wounded king witnessed scores of his warriors falling to the earth with slit throats by the men they once called allies. He saw one man hold a Briton, while a second man cleaved the Briton's head with an axe. Swords and spears were being driven through the backs of the Britons. Several Britons were forced to the ground and their heads were bashed in by clubs, shields, and feet. The clanging of swords sang threw the night air, only to be drowned out by horror-filled screams and curses.

Ingomar finally found his voice, "Wh-Wh-What is this?!" he demanded. Both his left leg and back were on fire. He could feel the warm blood flowing out of him. "What the fuck is this?!"

"Is it not obvious?" the Germanic king asked. "This is your end. You and your damn people," he ended with a sinister smirk.

The Gallic king showed the wounded man the bloody knife that had stabbed him. He taunted in a sing-song voice, "You should have accepted our offer. Perhaps your people might have lived to enjoy subjugation."

Ingomar was using his good leg to scoot his body forward to get off the platform. He felt his body dragging, his bodyweight had seemingly tripled, and it was impossible to stand without his back feeling it would split in two from the wound.

"Look at him crawl, as if a baby," Ingomar heard Budic laugh.

"He shall not leave us. We shall take him to the—"

"FATHER!"

Ahead of the platform in the distance was the prince, Ivomagus, with spear and sword in hand, leading a charge with the valiant Woad Warriors rushing behind him, thirty strong. Ivomagus threw his spear at the platform, his aim at one of the kings. The spear flew to the left, almost skewering King Budic. Other Woad Warriors of the Britons chucked their spears at the kings, forcing the leaders to jump off the platform for their safety.

Ivomagus wielded his sword proudly and charged. "Father!" he cried out, slicing open stomachs and throats with his sword as he ran.

Ingomar's hands wrapped around the platform edges, and he used all the muscles in his arm and shoulders and pulled himself off the platform. He landed on his back; his wound seemingly burned hotter than the sun. The king yelled.

Ivomagus and the Woad Warriors broke through the Gauls and Germanians and reconnected with the king. Ivomagus cradled his father, "Father! Oh, by Andrasta, you're wounded!"

"Bless you for your arrival," he said through anguished teeth. "Ivomagus! Where are Casticos and Keyne…?"

"I do not know! As I fought in competition, both of them left without alerting me. I do not know their whereabouts!"

The king could hear the fighting growing more intense around them. "F-Find them! We must flee!"

"I shall, Father! But we must take you away!"

"Ivomagus! I-I-I c-can't move! My back and my leg have been stabbed!"

Ivomagus used his strength and heaved his father over his shoulder without hesitation. The prince called for the bodyguard of the Woad Warriors to form a circle around his father to protect him. The Britons dashed away through the burning night.

"No! Do not let the Britons escape! Capture their king alive!" Ingomar could hear Adalmun order.

That craven bastard… my own son-in-law…

Every step that Ivomagus was taking, Ingomar could feel his wound burning hotter. Ingomar had to endure this, he must endure this savage pain. The only thing pressing on his mind were the whereabouts of his younger children.

All around them, the carnage continued. Gauls were heaving torches onto the thatches of Briton homes. They were dragging screaming men, women, and children through the doors and impaling them with swords and spears. Germanic men were carrying off crying women behind the houses, inside the houses, of if they had truly impatient, then they took the women right there in the open whirlwind of chaos.

An arrow suddenly entered into Ivomagus' back. The prince dropped his father, both collapsing in the dirt. Squads of Gauls and Germanians charged the Britons. The Woad Warriors called for a shieldwall line and braced against the onslaught, but a few of the enemy got through the gaps.

Ivomagus, wounded but furious, rose to his feet. He took a spear from the ground and lunged at a Germanic attacker, the spearhead puncturing the man's intestines. As Ivomagus retracted the spear, a Gallic axman came from the rear and raised his bloody weapon high. The King called for the Prince, but it was lost in the fury of the fighting, as was the Prince's life once the ax fell into the back of his spine.

Ingomar cried aloud his son's name. One of the Britons turned around and decapitated the Princeslayer with a single swing of the sword. Alas, Ingomar hobbled to his son and clutched him in his arms but wailed to the sky once he realized he had perished.

A Germanic assailant had slayed one of the bodyguards and made his way towards the mourning king. Yards away from the monarch, a spear went through the Germanian's back and out his chest. Wielding the spear was Casticos, who violently retracted the weapon from the Germanian's torso and stabbed him thrice more as the wounded man hit the ground. Behind Casticos came a retinue of the prince's own bodyguards.

"Father!"

"Casticos, you yet live, thank the Gods!"

"Father, you're bleeding!"

"Never mind such, where is your sister?!"

"I do not know! I have not seen her since you and I last spoke. The Gauls and Germanians started killing our people! I ran, found our warriors… what is happening, Father?!"

He groaned as he spoke, his wounds opening up more, "They betrayed us! The kings want our land here on the mainland! Thus, they have committed treachery!"

"No… w-we need to find Ivomagus! And then we'll search for Keyne—"

Casticos finally noticed the body that his father was cradling. He recognize the build and the hair. The younger brother was quivering, he fell to his knees in front of his father.

Ingomar could not recall a more joyless expression, "Casticos—"

Water was edging in the young man's eyes, "Ivomagus… no…"

Ingomar shouted louder, "Casticos! Listen to me, you must listen!" I couldn't save my eldest… but I shall save you! "Casticos, take to the seas! Return to Britannia!"

"Father, I shall not!"

"Do it! Avenge your brother and me! Avenge your people, and remember this betrayal of the Germanians and the Gauls! I cannot stand nor walk, and it pains me when I'm carried. You must flee, Casticos!"

"No!"

"Find Keyne and retrieve her! Go!" The king looked to the bodyguards and recognized one, "Erbin, take my son! Leave Samarobriva and flee to Britannia! Avenge this betrayal!"

Erbin seized the prince by the torso and was hauling him back with the assistance of several other bodyguards. Casticos kicked, screamed, and cried for his father as they dragged him away.

Ingomar was on his knees, blood pouring from his nose. Just being on his knees felt unbearable But seeing his son die, not knowing the welfare of his only daughter, and his last son weeping as he is being dragged away for his own safety… that was utterly excruciating.

The shieldwall of the Woad Warriors had broken. The last of the Britons fought with the courage to make their ancestors proud. Alas, the Germanians and Gauls were too many, and one-by-one, the Warriors fell. The rapacious barbarians turned their sights on the king. They ran at him, Ingomar still clutched Ivomagus' body and kissed his brow.

The charging shadows were laughing manically as they overwhelmed him. So many rough and bloody hands were violently grasping him, his muddied blond hair was yanked every which way, the bonfire of homes had illuminated the vile faces of the monsters that were jeering and cursing at him. He felt something solid hit him above the eye, and he drifted into darkness.

Erbin had pulled Casticos far enough away for the sad prince to move on his own. They initially fled with the strength of ten men, but upon absconding through the camp, they reunited with many fleeing Britons composed of warriors, farmers, women, and children: their numbers swelling to the hundreds. Night and chaos had thankfully covered their presence from the rest of the Gauls and Germanians.

They were on the cusp of the village's edge and the lead warriors spotted scores of horses that were still tethered and could be ridden to safety through the woods.

The men went for the horses, but Casticos objected. "Take pause! Do not get to the horses!"

"For what reason?!" one of the warriors asked.

Casticos looked to his men, "The bastards planned this entire ambush on our people, I believe they have plans for our horses or anyone riding away! Cut the tethers to the horses and let them ride free, they shall be diversion!"

"Such plan is mad!"

"Do as I command!" the prince shouted.

"Forget this, I am escaping with my life," a warrior defied him.

"As am I."

Five warriors in total grabbed the reins to the horses and mounted them, riding hard to the woods to the north. The horses were gaining distance from the Britons on foot, and all without anyone being alerted. The horses were close to the woods.

"Casticos, I believe you may have just doomed us," one of the warriors sneered.

"To shit with this waiting, we must seize the horses before—"

The five horses suddenly whinnied loudly as they still galloped, but the five riders fell off of their mounts and hit the earth grotesquely. The Britons were silent. From the woods emerged several Gallic archers who went to each body and laughed as they executed the groaning survivors.

"Casticos, you were right."

The Prince bit his bottom lip, "I only desired that I was wrong on this accord. If only they weren't watching the woods."

"Then what shall we do?"

"They covered the way to the north; we must venture through to the west and hook up to the coast. No horses, we must all move on foot. Shall any like to argue?"

No Briton dared argue with their leader.

He looked to Erbin, "Lead these people to the west, I shall join you shortly."

"To where do you go?!"

"To retrieve my sister, and if I can, my father!"

A bucketful of water had splashed Ingomar awake. Everything was so bright; he could feel the warmth of the flickering torches on his face and the large pyre in front of him lit up the world. A crowd of Gauls and Germanians had surrounded him. In front of them were his people, about twenty in all who had been captured—kneeling, battered, and bloodied with bounded hands.

Ingomar himself was on a platform, beside him were Adalmun and Budic, both covered in splatters of blood. Both of the kings wore the masks of triumph, gazing over at Ingomar. The Briton's hands were bound above his head, tied to a pole, he was painfully standing upwards, trying to ease the pain on his bad leg. He looked down and discovered that he had been stripped naked by his enemies.

"How shall Taranis and Tyr bless us respectively for offering a king?" Budic asked the mystic shamans of the Gauls.

"The Gods shall offer a great multitude, we assure you! The Britons shall never return to this land with a sacrifice such as this! King's blood is the sweetest nectar to the Gods!"

"Father!" a female cry went up. Ingomar recognized the voice.

Keyne was brought out to the front of the crowd, escorted arm-to-arm by muscular guardsmen. She was fighting to break free of their grasps, yet the guards tightened their grip along her shoulder. She cried out in pain.

"Adalmun!" Ingomar called out to the Germanic king. "Whatever you plan for me, do not harm my daughter!" His voice was more of anger than fear.

Adalmun nodded surely, "My father is right. It shall not do to harm my queen when she is to watch the end of her father."

"NO!" Keyne screamed. "I beg you Adalmun, my dear husband, do not do this to my father!"

Adalmun looked to her and shook his head, "Leave it for the queen to beg to her king. I hear your cries, but this must be done. I extend my marital apologies."

"You conniving shit!" Keyne hollered louder. "If you harm my father, then I swear by all the Gods that I shall not bear you anymore sons!"

He fully turned his body to her and approached, their noses were barely touching, "You shall refuse to bear me further sons?"

"You harm my father; you shall never enter me again!" she slurred venomously.

His smile was twisted. "Adorable, that threat is adorable." His right hand opened and gently wrapped around her throat. "You are my wife. I shall get you pregnant as many times as I choose, and you shall bear me sons, one way or another…"

The Germanian King turned away from her and spat. "Bind and gag her. She shall watch."

Ingomar summoned the strength from his diaphragm and roared, "Do you think that you shall escaped from this unscathed, Adalmun?! You and your Germanic wretches! You are my son by marriage, and you inflict this sacrilege upon my people and I? And you Budic, you odious Gaul! Pigs are your banners, and pigs are what you are. We Britons shall have our revenge! WE SHALL KILL YOU ALL FOR YOUR BETRAYAL!"

Budic and Adalmun smirked at each other. The Gallic king walked up to him, "Perhaps. Yet, it is not this day."

The ancient and revered shamans of Germania and Gallia approached closer. They chanted to their deities and painted arcane symbols on the tied king's chest. With their tools, they mechanically sliced away pieces of his flesh—all while chanting and praying—and threw them into the fire. The valorous king chewed down on his lip, drawing blood, all in order to not scream for their amusement.

The Germanians and Gauls cheered as they watched, while the captive Britons sobbed and winced at the sight. Ingomar's daughter was bawling hysterically through her gag. The pain had repeatedly sent him in and out of consciousness. When he was alert, his eyes would fall on the two kings who deceived him, and his daughter, Keyne, who pleaded for him through the muzzle.

To ensure that their seed shall be strong for future generations, the Gallic and Germanic shamans severed Ingomar's penis and testicles from his body. They tossed them in the fire. The crowd cheered. Ingomar screamed for what felt like an eternity, then everything around him blackened out.

He awoke in a dazed state, his jaw was sore, and the taste of dry wood was in his mouth. As he stirred, he felt himself confined to a wooden cage that was stuffed with wheat and straw. He felt a considerable breeze and looked down from the cage. He was elevated twenty feet in the air and looked down on the Germanians and Gauls who were carrying torches.

The light from the torches and pyre began to reveal more details. This cage was high up and supported by two mini towers near the base. To the left and right of the cage were two extended arm-like wings that extended out…

Arm-like… He looked near the base again, the two "mini towers" were supposed to be wooden legs. A hole emerged in his heart as he realized he was trapped within the ribcage of a Wicker Man. At the bottom of the statue were heaps of wood, wheat, and barley bundled together near the feet of this monstrosity.

He believed he could make out the forms of Adalmun and Budic below, but it was difficult. He could, however, hear their voices, "May the god, Taranis, accept this sacrifice to his eternal glory! We offer this King of the Britons unto you and request that your glory shall be delivered unto us."

The crowd delivered a booming echo and the shamans chanted.

One voice was distinct enough to be heard below. The man he called son-in-law, "Ingomar. I forgot to say unto you… happy birthday."

Two men holding torches approached the foot of the wicker prison and lit the wooden base covered with pitch. The flames jumped to life and began their slow ascent up the Wicker Man's legs.

The Gauls began to sing, the Germanians started dancing. Below the cracking of the fire, the king could hear his people weeping for him.

Ingomar closed his eyes, "Great Andrasta, watch over my people! I beg this of you! Watch over my son, Casticos. Watch over my daughter, Keyne. Watch over my wife, Nula. Watch over my people. Give us vengeance! I give my life unto you for vengeance!"

The fire rose quickly. The smoke was brutal, blinding his eyes and stinging his nostrils. He tried with all his might to break open the statue from within, but his strength had fled from the blood loss. His head was dizzying, tears were falling due to the smoke; Ingomar had never a fit of coughing so violently in his life. The cage around him was growing hotter, and he was coughing harder. Bright orange colors surrounded him; it was blinding. Then he felt the flames at his feet, it leapt onto his pants, and crawled over his skin. The gods had never heard Ingomar scream harder in his life.

As he felt the tendrils of agonized death curling around him, Ingomar's mind drifted to his smiling father and his loving children. Then his wife graced his image and shared a last loving kiss within his memory. The last bit of white tears ran down his face as he hollered when the black smoke enveloped him. And the Gauls and Germanians danced around the flames of the Wicker Man, singing praises, and toasting to their victory.

From the shadows of the shrubbery, the last son of Ingomar watched on in horrified silence at the Wicker Man. Streams of tears cascaded down his pale cream-colored cheeks. He witnessed his sister fainting during the execution, and being taken away. He knew that he could not save her, but he would rescue her. He swore it to Andrasta. He left the shrubbery and ran.

Casticos would return to the contingent of his surviving warriors and Briton citizens, they would race for days to reach their ships by the coast, being tracked by ravenous Gallic and Germanic pursuers, their numbers falling each day. By the fifth day, only sixty in total remained, and they had reached their ships.

He swore to the patron Goddess of Britannia, on the memory of his father and brother, and to the still beating heart of his sister. He swore to Andrasta that all of Britannia would know of this betrayal. He swore that all of Gallia and Germania shall burn. One day. The Germanians and Gauls were too powerful, and the Britons at present were too weak.

But what a difference a century makes…