Note from Kanuro5: It took me another month to do this, but I have finally uploaded the last part of the battle! I apologize for the slowness but I was so busy with my summer job that I had little time for the fic. And as of two days ago, I have finally started my last year of college! I also must note that this chapter is EXTREMELY long, my longest chapter ever. I at first wanted to make the Battle into four chapters because of the sheer length, but I promised everyone to keep it to three chapters. But I have finished it. So here it is, the graphic conclusion to the Battle of Praxus Hill. Enjoy!
XV
The Battle of Praxus Hill Pt. 3
Praxus Hill
The sight of 100 Germanic berserkers approaching the legion drove the experienced first line into a mild panic. They vividly remembered their first time fighting the monsters, they recalled how their axes sent the unprepared legionaries flying in the air, crushing their skulls and dismembering their bodies. But they have learned from their mistakes and were determined to fight against these terror-filled nightmares…or so they thought. When the Berserkers came in view, the Romans' train of thought flew out the window.
All the berserkers stood at the height of 6'8 and weighed close to 300 lbs. of muscle. Their large, unruly faces were covered in burgundy war paint that accented their animalistic nature. They wore large, baggy, burgundy pants and carried large double-bladed battleaxes and occasionally pickaxes. But what truly accented their savagery were the dead wolf pelts that they wore on their shoulders, with the mouth of the wolf caped over their heads. Yes, the berserkers were terrifying—but not as terrifying as their leader. The Berserker leader stood at 7'1 and weighed 325 lbs. His body was a collage to dozens of scars and tribal tattoos—all attested to his ferocity in battle. But what distinguished him from the other berserkers was that he was the only berserker to be wearing a bear pelt instead of a wolf pelt. He also wielded a large sword that was nearly four feet long that required the wielder to use both hands to carry the heavy blade.
"In Jupiter's name, would someone tell me what are these, 'Berserkers'?" Proculus asked to anyone within earshot.
"Horrid…horrid abominations of man…" Cassius explained with the color escaping his face.
"What do you mean?"
"I…I have heard stories about these…demons who wear the skin of Man. Berserkers are savages giants whose destiny is to emit a swarm of pain, death, and terror wherever they strike. I heard of how the Germanians select these creatures, they search for children who are… "touched in the head" and seized them from their parents. For any person that is seen as "touched" they will never find a purpose in life, but the Germanians find uses for them. They know that if one is damaged in the brain, they can function with one sole purpose, and the Germanians make that one purpose…to kill. So they seize the children, ten at a time, and place them down a dark pit for eight days. No food, no water. On the third day as hunger and thirst sets in…the Germanians throw down one knife into the pit and tell the children, 'Now seize your food!". After the eight days, one child emerges, sated with the flesh to eat and the blood to drink of the other nine children…forever being corrupted by the sensation of vile murder and bloodlust. And several years after the children had killed, they were forced into the wilderness to survive alone and would not be allowed to come back until they killed a predator…the wolf. Their first predator kill is what drapes down their backs now, forever showing the enemies of what they have done at a young age… "
"That's—that's not…by Jupiter…" Proculus sighed, haunted by the story. It seemed so cruel and utterly barbaric that it bordered on the impossible. But judging by the faces made by those surrounding him, the panic that gripped their hearts; Cassius' story might as well have been true.
But Lucius didn't hear the origin story of his most dangerous and formidable enemy; he was too busy plotting how to kill them all before they reached his first line and destroy his best troops. He then realized the distance that separated the Legion and the Berserkers, and decided that this will be the deciding factor. To trim down their numbers from afar!
"Cadmus!" bellowed Lucius in a panic for the Archer Auxilia Commander, "Fire all your arrows at the Berserkers approaching! Do not stop! I repeat, do not stop firing!"
Cadmus gave the order. The archers leveled their bows to the air and released their arrows. The 250 Roman arrows flew in the air and came crashing against the walking Berserkers. But not one Berserker dropped. Instead, they all just stopped moving to examine the damage. Several arrows stuck out of the bulky bodies of the Berserkers, even in some vital spots—yet the Berserkers did not feel the pain. The Berserker leader had an arrow sticking out of his shoulder; in which he pulled it out with ease and snapped it with one hand.
He looked upon the hill where the cowardly Romans tried to kill him from afar. The leader slowly began to pant with rage as he saw his own blood leak from his wound, angry that the Romans had hurt him. He lifted his face to sky and bellowed with the voice of a thousand men. His men behind him matched his bellow, and the hollering chorus shook the entire area with the rage of a million men.
The rage quickly turned into excessive babbling and incoherent chattering as the Berserkers began psyching themselves up into a blood rage. They shook their heads violent, thumped their weapons against their chests, stamped their feet wildly—some were even foaming at the mouth and drooling. With an incomprehensible war cry, the Berserker leader led his savage Germanians at a full sprint towards the Romans.
"Did any of them fall to their deaths?" Lucius asked.
"None General! They just…shrugged off the arrows," Cadmus answered in disbelief.
"Then fucking fire again! I gave you your orders!" Lucius screamed.
The archers prepared another volley and fired, but as the arrows stuck into the shirtless Berserkers, they kept on charging. The arrows had failed, if anything, it made the Germanians even more crazed. The archers prepared a third volley. But same as the second and the third, the Berserkers kept charging. It was inconceivable for the General; three arrow volleys, equaling to 750 arrows against 100 Germanians, and no casualties. What was it going to take to down a Berserker?
"That is impossible!" Proculus remarked with wide, crazed eyes, "They absorbed three full volleys of arrows! And yet they still march absent any deaths!"
"Fire again!" Lucius commanded.
The fourth volley was loosed in the arrow and came diving at the Berserkers—and finally, the arrows proved too much for some Berserkers and several of them dropped dead, some Berserkers had over ten arrows sticking out of their chests; a true testament to their durability. But the main onslaught still continued their charge.
"General! Several of the Berserkers have been put to grass!" Antonius alerted Lucius.
"How many?!"
"Uh…about six. I think six have been killed!" Cadmus answered, straining his eyes to see afar.
Six dead Berserkers? That was good. Lucius had realized early on, that one Berserkers could slay 20 Romans before he himself was killed. So with each dead Germanian, his men would live to see another day. He needed to keep going. More arrow fire! He had to whittle away at the Berserker ranks.
Cadmus continued the unrelenting barrage of arrows until the volley reached ten which was where the Berserkers were on the slope of hill and ever so close to the Romans. Through the ten arrow volleys, the Berserkers had suffered 25 dead. Lucius was somewhat satisfied that a quarter of these foul wretches lied dead, now all he had to do was apply the proper strategy and he may yet prove victorious over the Berserkers.
"Front line, come together! Thicken the ranks! Eight ranks per cohort!" Lucius shouted.
The trumpeters blew the command and the legionaries quickly came together and thickened their ranks from the overstretched three-rank file to the more short, yet compact eight-rank file. Lucius had thought ahead; by shortening his line and stacking the ranks, it exposed his flanks—but it enabled to strengthen the center of the line. Lucius knew that the Berserkers, in their blood-frenzied mind, would not think tactically, and thus not attack the flanks; but instead attack the center of his line, and with a shortened line, it made penetration far less likely.
"Mercenary Spearmen! Advance past the first line! Double Time!" Lucius bellowed to his hired barbarians.
The mercenaries ran past the first line of experienced cohorts and formed their own line about 20 yards in front of the first line. The 300 mercenaries took their stance and raised their spears forming an imposing spear-wall against the encroaching Berserkers. Lucius knew that he would sustain some heavy casualties, and if Lucius was going to lose some men, he would make sure that they were not Romans.
"Totates!" he called. The barbarian mercenary cavalry captain galloped over to the paranoid general. "Get your cavalry ready, at my command, you charge forth at the Berserkers." Totates saluted and rallied his men and positioned them through the open flank.
The raving giants were closing in on the mercenaries, still blabbering incoherently in a blood rage. The spearmen, with beads of sweat dripping off their brows, held their spears tightly, determined that not a single Berserker was going to pass. The leader, stood up in front to rally his men with a guttural growl. "Look at those fucking Germanians approach! They are dumb as they are hideous! They may be the size of oxen but they will fall easy to our spears!"
As the Berserker leader was only a few meters away, the Mercenary leader shouted, "Let us kill these curs!" Clearly, the mercenary did not hear the legend of Berserkers, nor did he realize how wrong he was.
As the Berserker leader was in range, the Berserker arched his back as he brought his massive sword behind his back, preparing to bring it down vertically on the mercenary's head. The Mercenary leader lunged with his spear and watched as his spearhead went into the Berserker's right pectoral. But to his utter surprise, as the spear made contact with the Germanian giant's chest, the shaft itself broke in half, as if he had just tried to strike a wall. The spearhead was still lodged in the Berserker's chest, but it did not seem to cause the man any distress or pain. The mercenary was speechless that his bravado-filled attack had failed. And now, he was going to experience what made the Berserkers legend.
After gaining his full strength, the Berserker leader brought down his mighty sword on top of the mercenary—and tore through him like paper. The heavy blade tore through the mercenary's shoulder and through his torso…LITERALLY, cleaving the man in two. After seeing their mercenary leader being bisected by the enormous giant, the mercenaries' morale shattered in a heartbeat, and they turned to flee. But the Berserkers, caught within the tempest of bloodlust, did not allow them to get far.
After slicing the mercenary in half, the Berserker leader brought his heavy sword up to his shoulders, and with a mighty swing, he lopped off the heads of three scrambling, clustered mercenaries in one swing. He then impaled an unfortunate mercenary on his sword and raised him in the air as he was still alive and stuck on the sword. The leader released an anachronistic primal roar that resembled the animalistic cry of early Neanderthals who have just emerged from their caves. The roar itself was a rally cry for his men to devour the mercenaries in their blood-crazed state.
With their giant axes that seemed to be forged by the gods, the Berserkers spun like a twister and slain many of the mercenaries trying to flee. The sheer power of their blows was enough to crush bones and send men flying six feet in the air. Dismembered limbs were soaring in the air as the Berserkers began to carve their way through the fleeing spearmen. And as they fled, the mercenary spearmen began to raise their voices in fear; crying, shrieking, blubbering uncontrollably as they tried to escape the monstrosities that were the Germanian Berserkers. The spearmen had failed to kill a single Berserker.
"Totates! Move forward, kill them! Kill the Berserkers!" Lucius shouted, not knowing the sheer volume of his own excited voice.
Totates did not even hesitate. He galloped forward leading his barbarian cavalry. He witnessed what happened to the spearmen, but yet, he was not that afraid. He realized that to beat heavy infantry such as this, you had to use cavalry, not the pathetic light infantry that were the mercenary spearmen.
Totates' cavalry hit the Berserkers as hard as they could, but like the spearmen found out earlier, it was like hitting a giant, burly and manic wall. The Berserkers didn't even bother attacking the horses—as was standard anti-cavalry tactics—they just focused their raging intent on the riders. As the horses went pass them, the Berserkers anger-fueled strikes would topple the riders from their mounts, causing the poor souls to backflip precariously off their horses; cracking bones and severing internal organs.
Totates himself was fortunate enough to duck an incoming attack; and with his spear in hand he targeted one distracted Berserker and lunged the spear through the giant's neck—severing the vertebra. He was the only mercenary to kill a Berserker.
Seeing how the spearmen were fleeing and the cavalry was stopped in its tracks, Lucius bit down on his lower lip in distress. He did not want a single Berserker to reach the Roman lines, and now it seemed like it would be possible; even worse, the legionaries who were witnessing the carnage in front of them were losing their morale, he just knew it. He had to figure out a way to get the Germanians, but wait…
"Archers!" Lucius called.
Proculus turned his head and faced his father. "Father…wouldn't we hit our own men?"
"They are only mercenaries! I can hire hundreds more! Just fire! Cadmus, kill as many Berserkers as possible!" he ordered.
Cadmus did not hesitate. He knew the General was right, seeing the Berserkers on the crazed warpath, the more Berserkers dead the better. Cadmus gave the order to his archers; they raised their bows high into the air and loosed them. The rain of arrows was brutally effect—on both sides.
The addition barrage of arrows tore through the muscles of the Berserkers at a high, downward velocity. Several Berserkers fell to the ground as the arrows continued to pelt their bodies. However, twice as many mercenaries died from the barrage than the Germanians. They screamed as they fell as the missiles continued to fall against them. Ironically enough, it wasn't the Berserkers that killed all the mercenaries, but the rain of arrows instead, which killed three times as many mercenaries than the Berserkers did. Totates was the last remaining mercenary, until two arrows wounded him in his back.
Totates fell off his horse screaming and rolled around on the ground in agonizing pain. He could hear the approaching footsteps of the Berserkers coming for him; so he tried with the last of his energy to crawl back towards the Roman lines. But as he crawled forth, the Berserker leader grabbed him by the back of his neck with one arm and lifted him up to his knees. Totates started blubbering excessively as he felt the sheer terror of what was gripping him. Totates looked forth up the slope and eyed the General and called out for him with a raspy voice, "General! General, please save me! Save me, please!"
But Lucius looked on, his eyes frozen on the Berserker leader's grasp on this mercenary who was now screaming for his help. But what could he do? Did he even want to help this man who helped him secure victory over the Gauls? Why should he bother, he is in fact a Gaul himself, and one less Gaul in the world, the better.
"Please! I beg of you! SAVE ME, PLEASE!" Totates sobbed louder with blood coming out his mouth and tears flowing down his cheeks.
The Berserker leader eyed Lucius from afar and pointed his finger at him, and then pointed his finger towards the captured mercenary, signifying that this was his fate. The fuming colossus then placed his two gigantic hands on the sides of Totates' head and began to push his hands inward together with all his strength. Totates let out a horrible scream that sent shivers down every Roman's spine as the pressure began to become too much. The leader kept on squeezing the mercenary's head, not relenting a bit. Blood quickly began to fill the whiteness of Totates' eyeballs and blood began squirting out of his ears.
With his last bit of energy, Totates shouted to the heavens in his Gallic tongue for deliverance from this miserable torture. But alas, no deliverance came. The Berserker poured in an extra reserve of strength and firmly crushed Totates' head, making the entire skull imploded on itself, like how one squishes a grape between their fingers. The Gallic mercenary's bloodshot eyeballs had shout out of the crush skull, blood and brain mattered gushed out of the ruptures of the skull and quickly formed a pool of blood surrounding his carcass. As the leader relinquished his hold on the crushed head of the last remaining mercenary, he raised his blood-coated hand and bellowed unintelligibly in Germanic at the Romans. Every single Roman watching the horrific execution were terror-stricken beyond all reason.
The Berserker leader stood his ground and ordered his men to sprint forward to slay all those that stood in their way. The Romans were dismayed at the massacre that they just witnessed, including many of the First Cohort, but Primus Pilus Cossutius still had strength in his heart and so he rallied his men to face this…desolation incarnate.
"Romans! Why do you tremble?! We are the Twenty-Eighth! The Twenty-Eighth! And we quake to no man on this world! We have survived time and again from foul creatures of barbarity and we will survive this onslaught! What say, you men of the illustrious Twenty-Eighth?"
The men shouted their answer from the canvases of their souls. This was indeed a terrifying enemy, but they were The Invincible Legion of Lucius Julius the Mighty who has slain over one million barbarians since its creation, and these savage bastards of Pluto would be no different.
"First line! Pilum at the ready!" Cossutius ordered. The veteran first line raised their second pila over their heads and leveled them carefully at the approaching Berserkers, who were having a tough time climbing up the slope due to stepping over the numerous dead and gallons upon gallons of spilled blood.
"Are you not pleased that we did not use our pila before?" Arminius joked with Metellus, but he wasn't smiling for the seriousness of the threat of Berserkers.
"I am so happy that we did not," Metellus answered back.
Cossutius gave his whistled command and the entire first line casted their pila at the Berserkers and watched with pleased efficiency that over 20 Berserkers fell to the pila. The Berserkers had already suffered numerous arrow wounds and were bleeding consistently, and the pila was the final measure that brought them down. But after the hail of pila was over, 45 Berserkers were still on the charge; and straight for the First Cohort in the center of the line.
The Mighty Three were stationed in the fourth rank, while those in the first rank of the line wanted to switch places with those in the last rank. But alas, it was not to be, they had to stop the incoming monsters with all the strength they had. The veteran legionaries tightened their shield walls, strengthened their stance, and braced for the inevitable charge that held the force of stampeding rhinos that was going to crash against their shields. But to their misfortune, the charge was less of a stampede and held more of the force of a hurricane.
The Berserkers rammed the shield wall with all their might, and sent the entire front three ranks crashing down on their backs from the sheer force of these Germanic giants. Lucius, who looked on in horror, was very happy that he changed the formation from three ranks to eight ranks. If it was still at three ranks, then the Berserkers would have easily penetrated the first line. But that changed little, as he now looked on helplessly as the Berserkers were decimating his best troops.
One Berserker axman ran over to a legionary and slammed his giant axe downward on the Roman. But the experienced Roman raised his shield in time to block the heavy blow; however, the Berserker put so much strength behind the attack that the blow to the shield actually fractured the Roman's shield arm. He fell to the ground screaming how his arm felt like it was broken in two. He was promptly pulled back to safety by men in the back ranks.
A redheaded Berserker that wielded a large, intimidating pickaxe was having a field day slaying Romans. He approached one First Cohort legionary and quickly driven the pickaxe through the Roman's helmet, the large pick puncturing through his skull like a finger through a leaf. After he pulled his weapon out of the Roman's head, he saw a wounded Roman grovel beneath his feet—so he raised his leg and stomped on the man's throat, killing the poor legionary. His next target already had his shield up, so the Berserker swung his pickaxe horizontally, the sheer reach of his arms and length of his weapon enabled the Germanian's pickaxe to bypass the shield and enter the legionary's jugular, leaving the man to bleed like a stuck hog.
But even though the First Cohort was suffering heavy casualties, they still fought bravely; brave enough to remind everyone why they were the best of the best in the legion. One legionary figured out the best way to take out a titan was to go for their legs. This legionary spotted a Berserker that was close to him, yet was too occupied fighting other Romans. So the legionary got close and plunged his Gladius deep into the Germanian's thigh, making sure he severed the femoral artery. The Berserker instantly dropped to his knee in an agonized screech, giving enough pause to allow several legionaries to repeatedly stab the Berserker in his chest—thus ending his life and his terror.
"Primus!" the legionary called to Cossutius loudly so his voice could be heard over the din of battle, "We must target their legs, the thigh if possible. They go down with haste this way!"
"Excellent thinking!" Cossutius said proudly to the resourceful legionary, "Everyone, target their thighs, cripple the mad fucks!" The plan was sound. Sever the artery in the thigh and making them bleed out even faster. The Berserkers were already bleeding profusely from the multiple arrow wounds they endured; this plan would ensure that they fall at greater numbers.
The legionaries banded together and tightened their shield wall and advance together, blocking incoming blows while stabbing the Berserkers in their thighs, crippling the behemoths before delivering the final blows against them. But the Berserkers did not go down without a fight. Even after being stabbed repeatedly, they still had the strength of gods.
Cossutius moved forward to stab a wounded Berserker, but the crazed Germanian seized Cossutius by the throat, lifted him into the air with one hand; and then chokeslammed the Primus Pilus into the hardened earth, knocking Cossutius out cold. The Berserker raised his battle axe to deliver the final blow, and dropped it on top of Cossutius. But Arminius and Metellus rushed out from the ranks and shielded their unconscious leader from the death blow. Aelianus came to their aide and stabbed the Berserker in his chest, followed by Arminius and Metellus repeatedly stabbing the Berserker to death. The legionaries from the back rank dragged Cossutius out from the thick of the fighting; handing him to slaves to take the unconscious man back to the medicus tent.
"Envelop! Envelop them now!" Lucius shouted. The trumpeters played the order.
The Berserkers were in the heat of the battle with the First Cohort, so Lucius had the idea to whittle them down by their flanks. His envelopment order called for the Second and Third Cohort on the right flank of the line to pivot inward to attack the Berserkers' right flank; while the Fourth Cohort on the left flank pivot as well to attack the Berserker's left. This was to ensure a faster way to destroy the Germanians before they destroyed his own prestigious First Cohort.
So in an organized fashion, the three cohorts steadily advanced until they were at the flanks of the disorganized Germanic mob. The Berserkers were in such a blood-crazed state that they didn't realize their flanks were being attacked until they were surrounded on both sides, but that didn't bother them, it just meant more Romans to slaughter.
A Berserker would cleave a Roman nearly in two that stood in front of him, just to be stabbed twice by two Romans to his right side. And as that Berserker turns to deal with the two Romans on his right, he is then stabbed by three Romans to his left. This entire ideal of whittling down the Berserkers was bitter, gruesome work, and the Romans were still taking numerous casualties, but they were slowly but surely killing all the Berserkers.
Lucius held his breath, afraid that if he even breathed, the tide of battle would turn against his most seasoned veterans. He had eyed his invaluable Primus Pilus being carried off the field and worried that discipline may break down without Cossutius. But he remembered the oracle, to place faith in his men and they shall prevail. And so he did, he placed faith that his men would have enough discipline to win this bloodbath of a fight. He remembered all the tactics and strategies from previous engagements and logically apply them against the Berserkers. But the one thing that he truly forgot about during this most critical part in the battle…was his youngest son, Vitus.
Main Road
While the main forces of the Twenty-Eighth Legion were battling fiercely against the Berserkers, the 300 Thracian rearguard on the main road were in a desperate battle against a flanking force of 1000 Germanians. The elite and experienced Thracians were holding the Germanians at bay in the front, but were soon suffering casualties from the endless number of barbarians. Meanwhile in the back of the Thracian line, the Germanic barbarians had already flanked the Thracians, and now were attacking from behind. And the Germanic Captain that led such a force, Diomac, was standing face-to-face against the Roman Commander, Vitus, in a one-on-one duel.
Both men were helmetless, so that their vision would not be hindered. Their swords were drawn, Vitus with his family's sword in his right, and Diomac with two swords in his hands. Both men's eyes locked on one another, drowning out the chaotic din of battle that was in front of them, to them, they were the only beings in this world that mattered. One man would lie dead, and one would walk away with the morale of the enemy army in tatters.
Diomac, who believed that the enemy captain should face death with honor, ordered the Germanians who flanked to the rear to move ahead and form a thick wall in front of Diomac and Vitus, to prevent any Thracians from breaking through to help the Roman Commander. But Oroles, who was alerted to the scores of Germanians that were behind the Auxilia's defensive shield wall and isolated Vitus, mobilized a contingent of Thracian warriors to move to breakthrough the Germanian defense to save the young Roman. But such thoughts of rescue were far from Vitus' mind.
He had been staring into the diamond, cold blue eyes of Diomac and knew that if he turned his mind to anything else, he would be killed in seconds. He didn't need to worry about a rescue, he had to worry about himself and how he could kill this Germanic Captain that stood before him.
Vitus took his stance, gritted his teeth, and carefully analyzed his opponent. His opponent was tall and had long arms, meaning he had exceptional reach. He carried two swords, meaning…he loves to be on the offensive, never letting up on his opponents…but it also makes it unlikely that he would be swinging both swords at once or else he would be vulnerable. Vitus knew that Diomac would alternate with one sword being used for offense and the other for defense. The young Roman grunted annoyingly, the only solution was the obvious one, use his nimble speed and small height to get in close. All he had to do was just dodge two swinging swords at once. This shall be delightful, Vitus sarcastically thought to himself.
So Vitus made the first move, jumping off the ball of his feet and dashed towards the dual wielding Germanian. Yet Diomac did not move. Vitus got close and made a few quick jukes to his left and to the right in order to fake him out. But Diomac did not take the bait. He remained stagnant with his swords up and with his blue eyes glued on the nimble, young Roman.
Seeing that his fake-out was not working, Vitus moved in and lunged his Gladius forward at Diomac's stomach. But Diomac, with impressive swiftness, swatted the sword away with his first sword and immediately counterattacked with the second. Vitus saw the vertical slash coming and sidestepped out of the way, watching as the blade came within centimeters of hacking off his nose. Vitus jumped backwards to get his distance before trying again, but Diomac promptly went on the lethal offensive.
Diomac rushed forward at the Roman Commander and swung with his left sword down on top of Vitus' Gladius, locking the blades. And with the sword in his right, Diomac aimed his sword for the Roman's belly. Yet again, Vitus barely spun out of the attack, feeling the nick of Germanic steel scraping against his armored side. While Vitus was still in mid-spin, Diomac spun in the same direction and swung his swords in a tornado-frenzy. Vitus kept his guard up and blocked each incoming strike. After spinning like the wind, Diomac brought his feet up and kicked Vitus square in his chest, knocking him down to the earth on his back.
Vitus quickly recovered and rolled to his feet, but Diomac already predicted such a move and moved forward and punted the young Roman in his face with a strong kick, cracking a tooth and splitting his lips open. Vitus reeled back on the ground in agony; clutching his mouth with his free hand and feeling the blood coursing from his mouth. He felt like rolling around on the ground to at least numb the pain a bit. Then the thought of his Germanic opponent suddenly remerged in his mind. He looked up and witnessed Diomac right above him preparing to drive both his blades through Vitus' body.
As Diomac raised both blades in the air, the tips pointing downward at Vitus; Vitus swung his sword at Diomac's stomach. Diomac canceled his attack and jumped backwards to evade the slash. Vitus bolted up and delivered a quick uppercut to the Germanic Captain's face, busting his lip. The quick attack stunned the mighty Diomac; he stumbled back in a short daze, giving Vitus enough time to strike. This time he used his sword and tried to slice his throat, yet Diomac recovered and dipped his head, yet the tip of the Roman gladius sliced open his right cheek.
Diomac recoiled and quickly went back on the offensive, swinging carefully with one sword at a time, refusing to be worked up by a lucky attack. Because of the continuous assault, Vitus was forced to guard against the incoming steel attacks. Vitus was getting frustrated. His arms were getting tired from constantly blocking Diomac's unrelenting attacks, he himself was tiring quickly from evading, spinning, and ducking the second blow of Diomac's two-pronged assault. He recognized how much discipline his opponent had; how he used the sword in his left to pin down Vitus' own sword and then use the sword in his right to get through the Roman's guard and for the kill. Vitus knew that he had to think of something fast…or he would meet his end at the hands of this vicious champion.
After Vitus deflected a vertical slash, he dived forth and rolled behind Diomac. After rolling out of his land, he performed a 180 degree spinning slash to cut away Diomac at the knee. But the battle-hardened Germanian simply raised his leg up in the air and pivoted out the way. Diomac moved forward and continued his attack, eventually drawing blood against Vitus. During one of the attacks, Diomac scanned an opening on Vitus' body and targeted his exposed arms. With a precise strike, Diomac slashed across the back of Vitus' left forearm, unleashing a steady, thick stream of blooding coursing out of the lengthy gash. But Diomac did not stop. He spun around the Roman Commander and with a fury of lightning quick slashes, he had cut deep into Vitus' right shoulder drawing considerable blood, while the second sword slashed Vitus on his cheek, paying back in kind of what Vitus did to Diomac.
Vitus stumbled back in searing pain, refusing to crumble to his knees and be exposed yet again to the strong Germanian. Vitus bitterly bit down on his bloody lip as he witnessed Diomac dash forward to regain the offensive. Vitus was near his limit, and he knew it. His sword arm was heavy from repeatedly being on the defensive and enduring the heavy yet somehow swift blows of Diomac. He was out of breath from constantly dodging his second sword. Both arms were aching from the deep cuts and his sore jaw felt like it could fall off. He was truly terrified of this enemy.
By Mar's mercy! What man am I fighting?! The young Vitus thought to himself. He has been on the strict offensive and yet he does not draw any breath of fatigue! He isn't even sweating! I am no match…but…I have to fight…I must fight!
Vitus gritted his blood-coated teeth, squeezed his sword tightly, and got in his defensive stance, prepared to fight back.
Germanian-Held Forest
The Germanic king, Cunovindus, and the Brittonic king, Lugotorix, looked out from their secluded woods and gazed on at Praxus hill, where they could see the Germanic barbarians cleaving through the ranks of the Roman legionaries. Lugotorix was in awe. The sheer size, strength, and ferocity of these men…no…these creatures, no man could kill with such brutality that it quakes the heart of the most disciplined soldier.
Their strength…were the gods incarnated into their bodies? Every time they swung their gigantic weapons, a Roman went flying seven feet into the air. It was all incredible. But then reality hit Lugotorix. Sheer strength is wonderful, but it pales into comparison with the numbers of the enemy. The Berserkers had already been whittled down to half strength by missile fire and were now being overtaken by the numerous Romans. It was only a matter of time, before the Berserkers would rejoin their kin in the afterlife. Cunovindus had to take advantage of the Romans' disarray.
"Your Berserkers…they are truly ferocious! Such standings of prowess nearly equal footing of the gods…" Lugotorix said in near disbelief.
Cunovindus chuckled proudly. "Did I not tell you that my men would crush the skulls of every Roman?"
"Your boast turns to truth, yet it may prove to be discarded in the wind if you do not press advantage of this," Lugotorix warned.
"What are you saying?"
"Send in the rest of your army whilst the Romans are still in disarray from your Berserkers. You will sweep them away like a flood!"
"A sound plan, but I cannot do it."
"What? Why do you refuse to press advantage?!"
Cunovindus sighed and lowered his gaze to the dirt. "Because of my Berserkers' bloodlust."
"I…I do not understand?"
"What makes the Berserkers so dangerous is that a blood rage clouds their thoughts and they unleash all they have at everything in their path. Everything."
"Wait…including your own men?"
"Exactly. I tried it before, send in the Berserkers and then follow up with infantry. But when the Berserkers feel their own kin approaching to support them…their plagued minds turn hostile and they believe that their own kin are demonic abominations, and so they attack those that desire to aid them. The entire gambit of using the Berserkers is costly. If I send in my men and when the Berserkers attack them, the men's morale will plummet like a fallen star."
Lugotorix lightly shook his head in frustration and scoffed. "So your plan to defeat the Romans is to use insane and traitorous Berserkers?"
Cunovindus turned and glared at his fellow king. "They can finish whatever is asked of them. And they will penetrate through Roman lines, and also Diomac will break through the Auxiliary line! He is most likely marching on the back of the hill right now."
Praxus Hill
The piercing screams of the wounded Romans on top of the hill began to increase in numbers. The Berserkers were down to 15 men and yet they were still fighting as strong as ever. The First Cohort had already lost a quarter of its strength, which was the equivalent of half the number of an average cohort. Roman bodies were piling up at an quickening rate that even the slaves were having difficulty of retrieving the dead and wounded from amongst the battle.
A Berserker axman drove his axe through a Roman's helmet, killing him instantly as blood spurted through the metal helmet like an open faucet. The axmen turned to his right and severed the arm of an unfortunate legionary who could not raise his shield in time. The vengeful comrades of the armless Roman advanced forward with shields and repeatedly stabbed the Berserker in his abdomen, trying with all their might to disembowel the savage titan. Yet the Berserker fought on, and before he fell, he swung his ax one last time and lopped off the heads of two of the three Romans that stabbed him.
Such grisly and gruesome forms of carnage spun inside Proculus' mind like a hurricane. Earlier he saw the butchery of the Germanians by the Romans and witnessed how the Roman wounded walked back to camp, horribly disfigured from the battle. That…that was one thing, but this…Proculus could not even describe such a harrowing scene of actual Romans, being butchered like cattle by the enemy. His own people…being killed in droves by these demonic spawns of Pluto. The cries, the blood, the hacked limbs; all Roman. But then a sudden yet random thought formed in his mind. He thought of his younger brother, Vitus, lying dead in pile of Thracian corpses, dismembered to dozens of pieces and defiled by the savage Germanians.
Proculus snapped back to reality and remembered that his brother was all alone in the road, and no messenger had come. Yet somehow, Proculus felt that something was very wrong.
"Cassius!" Proculus said as he turned to his bodyguard, "Have you noticed any messengers from Vitus that have arrived?"
"None since the time when he reported that all was well."
Proculus bit down on his bottom lip, worried that his brother has not reported. Maybe he was alright and it was just a bizarre pestering notion in his mind. But, maybe it wouldn't hurt to…
"Cassius, I want you to ride down the back of the hill and meet up with Vitus. I want to know if he is safe or needs assistance," the concerned older brother asked of his loyal bodyguard.
Cassius saluted and galloped to the rear of the hill and descended back down the hill. But he did not go far. Halfway down the mountain, he saw the body of the dead messenger that Vitus had sent earlier to alert Lucius of the Germanian flanking force. Cassius jumped from his horse and examined the messenger; he noticed that his neck was broken and there was a dent in the dirt and numerous hoof prints. He quickly put it together: the horse the man was on suddenly bucked wildly up the hill, threw the man off and he broke his neck once he hit the earth. Cassius got on his horse and returned back to Proculus at full speed with the news.
"Proculus! I found a dead messenger on the rear slope of the hill. Vitus, most likely sent him. I do not know how long he has been dead."
Proculus began to fear the worse. He turned to his father and said, "Father! I fear Vitus may be in danger! We must send aid." But Lucius did not reply.
Proculus could see Lucius' mind and eyes were fixated on his legionaries battling with the Berserkers. This was the most crucial part of the battle, although there were few Berserkers, there was enough to cause a breakthrough of the first line and tear through the inexperienced second line. He may have to even plug the first line with the second line. But he prayed that this would not come to pass.
Proculus called his father again. And yet, Lucius still did not respond. Proculus yelled at him. And as before, Lucius remained too engrossed with his finest men being dominated by these Germanic giants to hear any news.
Proculus gritted his teeth and sneered away on his horse, realizing that his cause to alert his own father was lost. He moved to Cassius and spoke to him, "My father will not listen! We must take matters in our hand! We move to the main road to aid Vitus!"
Cassius' face wrinkled at the order. "'We'? It will only be the two of us? He may require proper reinforcements than just the two of us."
"It does not fucking matter! We will come to his aid! Now we move! Follow me!"
Proculus whipped the reins of his mount, Remus, and galloped at full speed to the rear of Praxus hill with Cassius following close behind him; to the aid of the Thracians, and of the young Roman, Vitus.
Main Road
Oroles had gored a Germanian through the abdomen with his spear. As he forced his spear out of the corpse, another Germanian came at him with ruthless intent. Oroles stood his ground and lunged his spear through the Germanian's eye socket, slaying him instantly. But as soon as this one fell, two more Germanians took his place, trying to stop Oroles and his Thracians from rescuing Vitus.
From where he was, Oroles could look beyond the dozens of filthy and bearded barbaric faces, and could see Vitus fighting for his life against the Germanic Captain that wore Roman armor. The situation was not looking good. It seemed that Vitus was wobbling on his feet with blood coming out of both arms and his mouth, while the Germanian looked relatively unfazed.
Oroles grunted loudly in frustration. He had to reach Vitus, yet Germanian fodder was standing in his way. If he did not hurry, Oroles feared the worse.
Diomac was slowly approaching the panting Vitus, swinging both swords in a neat circle and closed in to attack. Vitus moved forward as well and tried to go on the offensive, but the extra sword of the Germanian was too overbearing, forcing Vitus to remain on the defensive. Vitus continued to block and deflect the blows, patient to score a direct hit; and to his excitement, it paid off.
Diomac went for one overreaching thrust and left his right side exposed. Vitus dodged the thrust and pivoted under Diomac's arm and sliced at his exposed side. But instead of Vitus feeling his sword sink in to flesh and tear through it like bread, he felt his sword stop bluntly during the attack. Vitus realized that his sword was stopped by the centurion armor that Diomac was wearing.
But Diomac, filled with rising vexation, brought his sword down on top of Vitus and sank the edge of his blade in the area between Vitus' left shoulder and his neck. Luckily, Vitus' armor stopped the blade from shattering his bones, which prevented the damage from being fatal. Yet, it did not stop the pain. Vitus collapsed to ground clasping his gushing wound, as he shouted in misery.
Oroles' heart nearly sank in his chest as he mistook Vitus' cries of pain for a death cry. Through his helmet, the Thracian Commander could see Vitus on the ground in defeat, with the Germanic Captain standing above him as the victor. Hold on Vitus! I am almost there!
Vitus looked up from the ground, and fearfully stared into the icy blue eyes of his opponent. Vitus began to tremble violently as if he was having a seizure. He was going to die. After all that he has survived, he was about to die! It shouldn't end this way, it couldn't end this way. He had so much to live for, but now his life would be ended on a dank, beaten, dirt road by a Germanian that wore the armor of Rome.
Diomac approached the quivering Roman that laid by his feet. He looked at him not with discontent, but with a look of respect. This man was just a boy, but his courage reminded Diomac of himself when he was Vitus' age. And for a young, noble Roman to last as long as he did against Diomac, even landing a couple of good blows on him; he was worthy of a honorable death.
Diomac raised his swords above his head and quickly spoke Germanic to the terrified Vitus before killing him, "Do not tremble, for you have earned an honorable death."
"VITUS!"
Diomac snapped his head back behind him. Vitus looked behind Diomac as well. Vitus could not believe it. There, approaching from the road that led to Praxus Hill was his elder brother Proculus, who wielded his sword in his right hand and was galloping at full speed straight towards Diomac. Proculus' face was like that of a lion; wild and fierce and with the eyes of death sewn into his pupils. He could see from afar that Vitus was in danger, and he would be damned if anyone was going to harm his brother.
Proculus unleashed a passionate scream as his horse galloped closer to Diomac, Proculus clenched his sword tightly, he wanted to take the bastard's head off. But to Proculus' dismay, that would not come to pass. Diomac had dealt with cavalry attacks before; all one must do is get rid of the horse and the rider would fall as well. Right when Remus was in range, Diomac brought his two swords and swept the front legs from under the stallion; sending Remus and especially Proculus to crash to the earth with a thud.
Remus quickly rolled and recovered to his feet without serious damage and ran away without his master. Proculus on the other hand was laid out beside Vitus, sore from his fall and groaning in considerable pain. Diomac thought it was over, but quickly realized that Cassius himself, with spear in hand was galloping straight for Diomac. As Cassius raised his spear, readying himself to gore Diomac; the Germanian didn't even flinch. Instead, he dropped both swords on the ground and at the right moment, he grasped the shaft of the spear; and using Cassius' own momentum, Diomac flipped Cassius off the horse while still holding on to the spear, throwing him into the air, and causing the bodyguard to hurtle into the ground, knocking him out.
Diomac now held Cassius' spear in hand, and raised it towards Vitus, determined to finish what he had started. Diomac raised his arm and leveled it towards his Roman adversary, but was interrupted once again. From behind Vitus, emerged Oroles who had cleaved his way through dozens of Germanians to reach Vitus.
Seeing this one mighty Thracian break through the defensive line of his kin, spurred Diomac's heart to anger. He had a new target. With his shaft poised, Diomac hurled his spear at the tall Thracian. But seeing it come, Oroles ducked into a crouch and held his vast shield out in front of him. The steel tip smashed against Oroles' shield—a dead-center hit—completely puncturing through the bronze and wood of the Roman shield.
Oroles stood to his feet and discarded his shield that was now forever entwined with the Roman spear. He placed his spear in his left hand and drew his sword with his right, and took a defensive stance in front of Vitus and Proculus.
"Oroles!" Vitus jubilantly exclaimed, excited that his protector had emerged from the shadows to save him and his brother.
"Vitus, are you alright? How are your wounds?" Oroles concernedly asked while refusing to take his gaze off Diomac.
"They sting and throb. But none threaten my life."
"Good. Remain here, and I shall finish this."
Seeing that the Thracian carried two weapons, Diomac quickly picked up his two swords and rushed forward to kill the Thracian. Oroles stood his ground and lunged his spear out to keep a safe distance away from Diomac, yet Diomac knew Oroles' strategy and swatted the spear away and moved closer. But Oroles with his sword in his right hand thrust forward, trying to gut Diomac like how a farmer would gut a hog, but Diomac, as he did before, swatted the sword away.
Diomac raised his swords in the air and crossed them like a pair of scissors and moved to decapitate the Thracian. Oroles quickly recovered and ducked as the pair of swords came within inches of touching his neck, and thrust his spear out again. The strong and experienced Diomac spun around the spear and attacked with both swords at once, but only to be blocked by Oroles' sword.
Vitus was speechless. For about a full minute, Oroles and Diomac were in a duel to the death in the likes that Vitus had ever seen or could possibly imagine. Both men moved as fast and as precise as eagles, swooping below to capture their prey with their talons. Each move they made was crisp, each block was practical and yet extravagant, every counter they made flowed together so fluidly one would think that they staged the entire fight like a play. But this wasn't a play, there was no cheering or booing, there was no climatic music, it was only two mighty warriors in a fight to the death. Simple as that. One would walk away with their life. The other would be carrion for the scavengers.
During the midst of this duel, Proculus began to stir back to consciousness after he had endured a nasty fall from his horse. Vitus quickly helped him to his feet.
"Proculus, it lifts heart to see you relatively unharmed!" Vitus said.
"All, except my pride," Proculus groaned. He looked forward and bore witness to the magnificent duel between Oroles and Diomac.
"Why is that fucking Germanian wearing Roman armor?!" Proculus sneered.
"I do not know. But turn away from such thoughts for they are of little import."
"You are right, your protector requires assistance! Let us kill that barbarian!" Proculus growled as he picked up his sword and proceeded to move forward to help Oroles. But Vitus stopped him.
"No! We must not attack on impulse!"
"Let me go! I will kill that bastard for what he did to you!"
"No you will not!" Vitus emphasized. "Look at me! Do you see the fruits of my labor in combat?"
Proculus eyed his brother carefully and finally noticed all the blood and cuts that was on Vitus' body. "I fought with him by myself, and he easily overpowered me!" Vitus added on. Proculus bowed his head in contemplation. He knew Vitus was the better fighter than he was. And although it insulted his pride to admit it, if Vitus was nearly killed by this Germanian, than Proculus himself did not have a snowflake's chance in Vulcan's forge to defeat the Germanian.
Proculus growled in frustration. "Your words ring true, so what do you suggest brother?"
"That we come up with proper strategy so that we may kill this man."
"If you have a plan, break words so that we may utilize them."
Vitus and Proculus both stared at Diomac and took careful notice on his stance, fighting style, and technique. Vitus was the first to point out of what he knew. "That man is a monster! He possesses unbelievable strength and perseverance. I was all but exhausted from fighting him, and yet he did not have any loss of breath. He also favors the dual sword style and is a master at it. He always attacks with one and defends with the other. He is very patient and his form is excellent."
"This is not informing me of how to topple such a giant," Proculus slyly mentioned.
"I know…but maybe, we both can topple him together."
"Explain your thoughts."
"Proculus, you have strength; and I have speed. Together, we can use that to our advantage. But with two swords he can easily stay us off of him. Unless, we both attack his front and his rear at once."
"Of course! He cannot defend both his front and his back at the same time."
"Exactly! He will be exposed and would present us glorified opportunity to kill him."
"I like this plan! I will attack his front!" Proculus declared with a cocky grin.
"And I shall attack his rear!" Vitus smirked in kind.
As soon as Vitus finished, Diomac was beginning to win his fight over Oroles. Now Oroles was a great warrior, often believed to be one of the best warriors in the entire 28th Legion. But there was one inescapable factor that proved to be the difference maker: Age. Oroles was in his 40th year, and although he was in physical shape and had the body of a man in his early 20s; his stamina and wartime injuries had hindered him greatly. He no longer had the stamina he had when he was younger, and in constantly fighting with the Germanians since the start of this battle, he was exhausted. His opponent who was 27 years old and who had only fought Vitus and made quick work of two Thracians, was winded from his duel with Oroles.
Oroles' form grew slow and sloppy as his arms grew heavy and the spear and the sword in hand felt like lead. During one attack, he didn't have enough remaining strength to lift his spear, causing Diomac to knock the spear out of his hand and elbow Oroles into the ground. Diomac stood over the formidable Thracian and pressed the tip of his sword into the crevice of his throat, drawing small trickles of blood. As Diomac looked down at Oroles, the Julius brothers rushed forward at Diomac screaming and waving their swords in the air.
Diomac stood his ground and was ready to carve up these two Roman boys that thought they could take him. But once Proculus and Vitus was in range of his swords, Vitus dived forward and rolled behind Diomac. As Diomac turned around to attack Vitus, Proculus moved forward and swung his steel sword at the monstrous Diomac. Diomac promptly turned his thoughts to Proculus and blocked his attacked, but was immediately set upon by Vitus who was behind him. Vitus lunged his sword, but yet Diomac blocked the Roman's sword with his second sword. Diomac's eyes shot open, he realized what they were up to.
The brothers continued their strategy, one would attack forcing Diomac to block one way and the other would attack where he wasn't blocking. Unfortunately for Vitus and Proculus, Diomac had already trained for this situation. Diomac, realizing that both attacks to his front and his rear were imminent, decided to constantly spin in a controlled circle; so in this manner, he could continually see all around him and block and attack at the same time. This exchanged went on for half a minute. Diomac would keep spinning; allowing him to evade and block, while Vitus and Proculus would attack in vain in an attempt to find an opening.
Then suddenly, in the midst of this intense moment, Diomac remembered why he was fighting these Romans. He had to destroy the Auxilia so that he could flank Praxus Hill and attack Lucius Julius from the rear. This entire process should have taken five minutes at the most; instead it had dragged on for about fifteen minutes or more, half of his force was dead, the main Thracian reserve force was still keeping the rest of his men at bay, and the Roman Commander was still alive. Time was wasting and pretty soon the battle would be over and he would fail. He had to end this now. And the best way to end it was to go for the weakest link. Even though Vitus was wounded, he was still a very capable fighter; even more so than the second Roman Commander that showed up to kill him. Diomac knew who his target would be.
Diomac blocked both attacks coming from both sides of him, and with great flexibility, he lifted his leg high in the air and kicked Vitus to the ground, thus isolating him from his brother. Diomac then turned on Proculus. He unleashed a quick fury of dual strikes on Proculus, knocking the Roman off balanced and even swatting his sword out of his hands. With the Roman weaponless, Diomac brought his sword from overhead in attempt to cleave through Proculus helmet. However, Proculus took a quick sidestep which saved his life, but he forgot about Diomac's second sword, in which the Germanian plunged deep into Proculus' left shoulder.
The elder brother fell to the earth hollering as crimson blood shot out of his shoulder and stained the dirt below. Vitus returned to his feet and charged forth with reckless abandon after hearing his brother's wounded scream. He attacked madly, flaying his sword from side-to-side, completely forgetting part of his training as he succumbed to berserk hatred of the man who wounded his brother.
But after dodging one overextending slash, Diomac brought both swords down over top of Vitus head, wanting to split his skull wide open. Vitus raised his bladed mere inches above his forehead; however it was not enough to protect him. Diomac's strong and heavy attacked crashed against Vitus' sword, forcing his own sword deep into his forehead, splitting Vitus' own forehead wide open. A deep outpour of blood flowed down Vitus' face all the way to his chin, painting his face in a crimson mask of blood.
Vitus dropped his sword and fell to the ground, clutching his blood-coated face, bellowing at the top of his lungs. Diomac stood proudly as he looked around him, and all those who had approached him lay defeated. All was done, he was now tired, but now he had to finish them off, and who better to kill off first than the youngest Roman whom he had just defeated.
But unexpectedly, Proculus got to his feet and pounced on top of Diomac's back; wrapping his legs around his waist and putting the Germanian into a tight sleeper hold. He was not going to let the Germanian slay his brother as long he drew breath. Diomac tried desperately to gasp for air, but every time he tried to pull away, Proculus had squeezed his arms tighter together, slowing extinguishing the life from the mighty warrior. Proculus had leaned in closely to Diomac's right ear, and chomped down on it as a shark finding its prey in the water. Diomac let loose a shriek that thundered as loud as a thousand men. He could feel the very flesh and membranes of his ear being torn off. He was in such excruciating pain, that he forgot he held swords in his hand and began to punch Proculus in his face until Proculus finally let go and released Diomac, after firmly spitting out Diomac's severed ear unto the ground.
Diomac panicked and quickly felt his ear and to his horror, felt it removed completely with blood shooting out into the air. He turned his blue eyes to Proculus, who in turn picked up Diomac's detached ear and showed it to him with an arrogant, toothy smile. Diomac snapped. His stoic persona faded in an instant, only to be replaced by seething, darkening fury. He clenched his teeth and charged forth at Proculus yelling as if he was a Berserker.
Suddenly, a spear flew through the air and tore through Diomac's back and exiting through the right side of his chest. Diomac dropped to his knee and cursed in searing torture and looked to where the spear was cast. To his utter surprise and to Proculus' as well, the spear thrower was none other than Cassius, who had regained consciousness and saved the man he was sworn to protect. Diomac dropped his swords and grasped the shaft of the spear, and in bloody anguish, he broke the spear in half and removed it from his body, allowing a waterfall of blood to spurt freely from his wound.
The now weakened Diomac turned his sights back on Proculus, the fucking Roman who had the audacity to bite his ear off. Yet his wound was so painful, Diomac did not have the strength to crouch down and regain his swords. He was also at the point of near exhaustion. No matter, he would enjoy choking the Roman to death.
"GERMANIAN!" a cry erupted behind him.
Diomac turned around and could not believe what he saw. The young Roman, Vitus, his faced completely covered in his own blood, bleeding from both arms, was standing tall with his arms out, inviting Diomac to attack him. Proculus could not believe it either. Even from a distance, Proculus could see Vitus' green and blue eyes glow brightly with intense murderous fire, such fire that he remembered seeing when they dueled each other for their stallions. Proculus shook his head fervently, was this his younger brother who was often thought to be a coward? When had he had his eyes replaced with those of a killer?
But Diomac, who was too furious to care about the young Roman, ran forth hastily wanting to beat the young Roman to death if he had to. But Vitus, who was weaponless, calmly stood his ground, and slowly reached behind his back and placed his hands on the grip of his dagger that was hidden behind his waist.
"Vitus! Do you recall yesterday? Fight with whatever it takes!" Proculus encouraged. Vitus remembered yesterday's lesson and smiled wickedly. Whatever it takes to live.
As Diomac was within range, he pulled back his arm and readied himself to punch out the impudent young Roman who stood before him. But the nimble Vitus was the quicker of the two. He took a quick movement forward and kicked Diomac in his testicles, causing the mighty Germanian warrior to fall towards his knees in scornful pain. Vitus quickly took out his hidden dagger and plunged the blade deep into Diomac's jugular, screaming as he did so. Blood shot through the air as Vitus removed the dagger and stabbed Diomac again and again several times until Diomac fell backwards into the ground. Diomac gurgled loudly as he choked upon liters of his own blood. His last sight was on the young Roman boy…a fucking boy…who killed him. Vitus held the bloody dagger in his hand, and felt the surge of adrenaline course through his veins; he felt the moment, the glory, the triumph. He raised the dagger in the air and unearthed a tribal shout, for he has killed Diomac, the mighty and legendary Germanic Captain.
When the Germanians saw that their hero was dead, their hearts sank in fear and they turned and ran. Seeing this moment, Vitus uttered his last bit of strength and made a whistle with his fingers and called the cavalry that he had hidden in the forest to come forth. "Cavalry, move forward! Attack!" The horseman hurtled forward at breakneck speed, spearing and goring the broken barbarians. Every Germanian that could move began surging back into the forest, accepting desertion from their tribes than facing death from their king from cowardice.
As Germanians broke from battle, the Thracians rallied together and cheered for their great victory. Ligadis found the exhausted Oroles and helped him to his feet so that he may revel in their triumph. It was a grand victory for them, 300 Thracians had faced 1000 Germanians and slain more than half of the Germanians, while the Thracians suffered approximately 100 casualties.
But among the revelry, Vitus plummeted to the earth. Proculus and Oroles rushed over to the young fallen hero and examined him. Beneath his blood-smeared face, his eyes were glazed and he was slurring his words. To Vitus, the entire world was spinning in circles, and he couldn't even feel his arms anymore. This sensation was…familiar. He remembered it vividly, it was the same feeling he felt nearly a month ago where he was shot with an arrow. He could feel that he was dying.
"Vitus!" Proculus cried out as he cradled his younger brother's head. "Brother! Speak to me!"
"Proculus…did we win?" Vitus slurred in a daze.
"Yes…we won because of you. Now stay in this world!"
"Proculus, Vitus has lost too much blood! He needs to be taken to the medicus!" Oroles advised.
"Allow me! I can mediate the flow of blood," Ligidas said. He went to a dead Germanian and tore large chunks of his trousers off and used the remaining pieces to make several tourniquets to stop the flow of blood.
"Cassius! I require your horse!" Proculus cried. But his bodyguard did not answer. Proculus looked around to find him, but Cassius was gone. During the whole revelry of victory, Cassius had spotted something that he didn't believe. He noticed in the forest, were three cavalrymen who were wearing blue clothing. He in fact saw, Ermanar, the Captain of the Brittonic army, and who Lugotorix ordered to spy on the battle between the Germanians and the Thracians.
Ermanar and Cassius had both spotted each at the same time and held each other's gazes for several seconds. Realizing that his hidden position was compromised, Ermanar turned and ran back to his king. Cassius promptly got on top of his horse and rode off into the forest after the Brittonic Captain; without informing Proculus of where he went.
With Cassius gone and his steed, Remus, somewhere in the forest; Proculus commandeered a mercenary's horse and had a drowsy Vitus placed behind him. He commanded Oroles to hold his position in case another attack was to happen, even though both men knew it was unlikely. Proculus said his farewell to Oroles and rushed his little brother to the medicus on Praxus Hill.
Praxus Hill
The Romans did not hear about the Thracian victory, nor did they truly care. They had their own victory that they had to secure. The Berserkers were almost destroyed. Out of the 45 Berserkers that made it to the Roman lines, only five were still standing, including the mammoth leader of the Berserkers. The first line was very tired, some units to the point of exhaustion, but they had to push more for victory. With their leader, Cossutius, taken out of the battle; Aelianus of the Mighty Three stepped up to take the role.
Aelianus broke formation and stepped forward in front of the entire first line and stared into the terribly savage faces of the Germanic giants. Metellus and Arminius quickly stepped up and stood beside him.
"You two, get back in formation. I will face these monsters alone." Aelianus calmly yet coldly ordered.
"That will not come to pass. We are the Mighty Three, we fight together," Arminius panted with a cunning smirk.
"He is right! If Metellus shall fucking fall, then Metellus shall fall protecting you!" Metellus boasted. Aelianus chuckled lightly. It couldn't be helped. So be it. He would feel honored if his good friends fought by his side to save the entire legion.
"Why are those three out of formation," said Lucius finally speaking, yet failed to notice that Proculus was not by his side.
"Do they really believe that they can kill those Berserkers by themselves? A single man has never killed a Berserker by himself!" Antonius said.
The Berserker leader shouted at his men to slaughter the three Romans that stood in their way. And as the Berserkers rushed forward, the Mighty Three swooped down at them. Arminius went to the right, Metellus to the left, and Aelianus straight up the middle.
Arminius fought one-on-one with a Berserker axman. The axman slammed his axe down at Arminius, yet the quick Arminius evaded the blow and watched as the axe hit the ground with tremendous force and became stuck. With the Berserker's weapon down and his body exposed, Arminius moved in. Arminius made several deep cuts to the Berserker's chest and stomach, but the Germanian shrugged it off like he was bit by a mosquito. The giant ran forward trying to grab the Roman's throat with his massive hands, but Arminius ducked the grab, spun out of the giant's reach, and with all of his strength—he sliced even deeper into the Berserker's stomach, causing his pinkish entrails to fall into the dirt. The Germanian fell to his knees and examined his own organs in horror, allowing Arminius to rise to his feet and stabbed the Germanian in the back of the neck, killing him.
Metellus fought one-on-one with a Berserker as well. This Berserker wielded a large sword and wanted to cleave the Roman in half. But Metellus lowered himself to his knees and brought his shield up and absorbed the heavy blow. Metellus then drove his sword into groin of the Germanic giant, causing the Berserker to fall on his back. Metellus pounced on top of the Berserker and drove his sword deep into the Berserker's chest; however, the giant was still alive. So Metellus left the sword in the man's chest and with his shield in hand, he used the rim of the shield and slammed it violently several times into the Berserker's windpipe until the Germanian began to cough up blood and eventually choked to death on his own blood.
That left three Berserkers alive, and Aelianus was going to take them by himself. Aelianus came down at the two Berserkers like a hawk after his prey. One slow Berserker tried to decapitate the Roman with a wild, slow swing; but Aelianus dipped out of the way and jammed his sword into the first Berserker's armpit and left it there. The second Berserker came at him with an axe, so Aelianus who only carried a shield, sidestepped away from the axe attack and slammed the rim of his shield into the Berserker's kneecap, shattering the bone into pieces. The second Berserker reeled backwards into the ground clutching his knee, and then Aelianus turned to the first Berserker, who was still standing although he had a sword through his armpit, pulled out his blood coated sword, kicked out the back of the Berserker's knees to put him in the kneeling position. Aelianus got behind the kneeling Berserker and slit his throat from behind. Aelianus quickly moved to the second Berserker and brought his sword down on top of him and cut off his head.
Now all that remained was the Berserker Leader that eclipsed all the others. He had seen the Romans slay his entrusted kin and just bore witness to Aelianus slaying them as if they were cattle. The Leader screamed a battle cry that sounded like it held the fury of Mars. But Aelianus stood his ground and hid behind his shield. The Leader ran forward with his colossal sword in hand and swung it down on Aelianus, yet as before Aelianus sidestepped out of the way and stabbed the Leader in his side. But as Aelianus sank his blade in deep, the Berserker quickly seized Aelianus sword hand at the wrist and pulled his hand off Aelianus' sword and began applying demonically strong force on the Roman's wrist. Aelianus unearthed a shout of pain as he felt his wrist beginning to be cracked like an egg. But Aelianus thought quickly and slammed his shield in the giant's face several times until the Germanian relinquished his grip.
The fuming Berserker Leader grabbed Aelianus' shield with both hands and yanked it off of his arm with tremendous strength. With his shield gone, Aelianus tackled the Germanian giant's legs and both men tumbled in the dirt. Arminius and Metellus moved forth to help, but Aelianus called back to them, "Do not interfere! This man is mine!" Both Arminius and Metellus stared at each other unsurely, but they respected Aelianus' wish and did not interfere.
With both men on the ground, Aelianus removed his helmet and started bashing the Leader in the skull with it. But the Berserker grabbed the helmet with one hand, and with his free hand, the Berserker punched Aelianus off of him in the face. As both men quickly got to their feet, the Berserker callously tossed Aelianus' helmet over his shoulder and started walking towards the Roman, absolutely livid. Aelianus stared at his sword that was still inside the Berserker, and knew he had to get it. Aelianus picked up a discarded Germanic spear and ran the Berserker Leader through in the stomach. The Germanian yelled in anguish as blood shot from his mouth. But the giant looked down furiously at the Roman and choked him with one hand and with the other hand, broke the spear in half and proceeded to beat Aelianus in the head with it; whilst he was still choking him.
With blood exiting his skull now, Aelianus quickly seized the sword that was in the Berserker's side, removed it, and sliced off the giant's massive hand that was choking him. The Berserker wobbled back screaming as Aelianus quickly plied the hand off that was stuck to his throat and moved back on the attack. The Berserker Leader moved forth to attack with the broken spear, but Aelianus continued to sidestep and dodge out of the way. And after one eventful dodge, Aelianus instantly brought his sword up and sliced the Germanic leader's face clean off in an immaculate slash.
Every single Roman who witnessed this dropped their jaws. Aelianus had not only sliced the entire man's face off, but half of his skull as well. From where the jaw meets the neck, Aelianus had sliced it off cleanly; exposing the inner machinations of the human skull. The Berserker's severed brain fell out of his skull cavity onto the dirt, and his body fell to the ground, dead in defeat. The entire legion cheered.
They banged on their shields with their swords and blew whistles with their fingers. The Berserkers were dead and all due to the Mighty Three. But most importantly, Aelianus, for killing three Berserkers by himself, including the titanic leader. Arminius and Metellus stood in awe and clapped for Aelianus. Every legionary present began chanting the name "Aelianus! Aelianus! AELIANUS!" Even Lucius was completely enraptured by the victory!
"By the Gods! I have never seen anything like it! That man…! That man did it!" Lucius cheered with a hearty smile.
"Aelianus is Horatius Cocles reborn!" Antonius added, still in total disbelief of what he had just witnessed.
Lucius pointed his finger at Aelianus with pride. "That man! Mark my words Antonius, that man is the future of this legion!"
Germanian-held Forest
The Roman cries of victory over the Berserkers rang out to the forest, where Cunovindus and Lugotorix watched on in stunned silence. Cunovindus shook his head in denial. How? How was it possible that the Berserkers could be defeated while so many Romans were still standing? It didn't make any sense! They should all be dead and for the afterlife by now! And what of Diomac! Where was he?! His men should have attacked the Romans by now! Where the fuck—
"My king! My king!" Ermanar shouted as he and his two men rushed before Lugotorix.
"Recover breath Ermanar, and break words on what has happened," Lugotorix said.
"Yes my king…the Germanian attack on the road has failed. Half of them lie dead, and the others have taken to the wind."
"What?!" Cunovindus screamed at the Brittonic Captain. "And what of Diomac?!"
"He lies dead. His life seized by the hands of a Roman boy who wore the armor of a Commander."
"No! It cannot be!" Cunovindus clutched his hair in anger and nearly tore it out of his scalp. His grand scheme had failed and he had lost not only his elite Berserkers, but his best captain and son-in-law. And the Romans were still on the hill, mocking his pathetic attempts.
"Did you return unscathed?" Lugotorix asked his loyal Captain.
"I did. We were discovered by one Roman and he gave us chase, but we lost him."
"Those fucking Romans…" Cunovindus growled to himself. Lugotorix didn't like the way that sounded.
"Cunovindus, we must withdraw and come with a better—"
"Fuck running away!" The Butcher snapped as he put on his helmet. "I will attack at once with everything I have! I will kill that fucking Roman!"
"Do not be a fool! You have lost more than half your men! Withdraw while you can!"
"I shall not!" Cunovindus sneered as he mounted his horse. "Now Lugotorix, ready your cavalry to await the signal. Upon hearing my horn that will blow thrice and the waving of the banner towards your part of the forest, that will be the signal for you to attack. Fucking remember!"
"But this shall not work! I have a horrible feeling that—"
"Do as I command!"
"…Fine, I will await your signal…"
Cunovindus moved forth and rallied his entire remaining army. "All of you who stand here are awaiting vengeance against the Romans! You are brave and as such will be rewarded with the blood of the Romans on your hands! This will be our final attack! Not one step back! We will rip out the throats of our enemies or die trying! Now everyone, move out!"
As Cunovindus moved out, Ermanar walked up to his king and said, "My king, I have news of grave import, of something that you will never believe..."
Praxus Hill
The Romans cheering was interrupted by the bellowing of several rams' horns that came from the dark recesses of the forest. Suddenly a large Germanic force numbering around 4,500 barbarians were charging out of the forest, with the flag of the burgundy boar flying high in the rear of the remnant.
"It is their final assault," Lucius stated calmly.
"How can you tell?" his Tribune asked.
"Do you not see the burgundy flag of the boar? That means that Cunovindus is in the attack. He commands from the rear, a coward's position."
"What shall be done? The first line is already exhausted."
Lucius smirked. "I have a plan, one that wets my thoughts with utter desire to use in battle." He took a deep breath and gave the order to his legion, "Merge into one line! First line in the center; second line form up on the left and right flanks! Slaves, retrieve the dead and wounded. Archers, unleash everything you have!" The legion moved fluidly.
The Archer Auxilia unleashed torrents of arrows upon the final Germanic attack, whittling down as many Germanians as possible. The slaves rushed onto the field and shouldered the wounded and carried the dead Romans back to the medicus tent. The experienced first line returned to the center of the line and compressed their line to fit in the rest of the cohorts. The rested, yet less experienced second line divided in half, one half to be on the left flank of the first line and the other to the right. Once the formation was done, there existed one straight, uniformed line of Roman legionaries.
Cunovindus saw this new formation, but took special notice that the center of the line was the exhausted Romans who fought the Berserkers. Cunovindus grinned villainously as he found a chink in the Roman armor, "All units! Drive through the center!" Although under intense missile fire, the Germanians pushed forward up the hill eager for their revenge. With Cossutius out of the battle, Aelianus gave the command, screaming as loud as he could to be heard. "Lock shields! Swords at the ready!" The Romans brought their shields together and stood together against the last horde of the Germanic army.
As before, the Germanians crashed against the hundreds upon hundreds of Roman shields and attacked ferociously. The Germanic horde attacked the entire line of legionaries, but specifically targeted the center of the line; leaving their flank attack weak. Yet tired as some of the Romans were, they still fought on valiantly, slaying Germanians by the dozens with each passing second. Lucius looked on at the battle with special care, noting every little detail that had arisen. If his plan was to succeed, everything had to go right.
"Antonius, I have an assignment for you. Have our bodyguard cavalry split in half, send one half to the left flank and I want you to take the rest to the right flank. And wait for my command. You will know what to do."
"But General, that will leave you alone," Antonius said.
"I shall be fine, now go!"
Antonius did as he ordered and separated the cavalry, his riders went to the right wing of the line, while the rest went to the left wing of the line; leaving General Julius alone by himself. Lucius walked up to the back rank of the center of the line where the First through Fourth Cohort were fighting hard and gave them the command, "Men at the center, we will be pulling back. We are not retreating! I repeat, we are not retreating! Just withdraw backwards slowly, yet still fight on!"
His most experienced men knew what was asked of them and obeyed. Whilst they were still fighting, they slowly were moving backwards, one foot at a time. As they killed, they took a step back; as they blocked, they took a step back; and as some died, they took a step back. The straight Roman line began to shift into a crescent as the Roman legionaries buckled inwards as they gradually withdrew. From the Germanian-held forest, Lugotorix and Ermanar who were both on their stallions, looked on at the shifting formation in confusion.
"My king, do you see what they are doing?" Ermanar perplexedly asked.
"Yes I do," the Brittonic king answered, scratching his head in confusion. "The Roman is deliberately weakening his center, Cunovindus isn't pushing them back. And the Roman cavalry is moving to both wings of their flank…What is that Roman up to?"
But Cunovindus, who was blinded by anger, could not see that Lucius was deliberately leading his center back, the Germanic king thought his own men were pushing them back. Cunovindus shouted to the heavens for the deaths of all Romans and ordered his men to move forward. After Lucius looked down the hill and noticed that Antonius was in position at the right flank and that the center was pulled back far enough to the point that the entire Roman line resembled a semicircle, Lucius gave the "Halt" order. The trumpeters blew their horns and the legionaries stopped moving and held their ground.
Lucius bellowed the climatic order on his finest hour, "Both flanks, FULL ATTACK!" And once the trumpeters blew their horns, the legionaries on the wings of the extreme left and extreme right, exploded with the ferocity of an active volcano and surged forward attacking the weak flank of the Germanic horde. Every single Roman that was not in the center, was on the strict offensive. The Romans at the end of the line were carving through the Germanic horde as if they were flowers, slaying so many so fast that the Germanians did not even realize they were doomed until it was too late.
"…That bastard…" Lugotorix spoke of Lucius as he watched in disbelief at what was transpiring.
"What is wrong my king? What is the Roman doing?" Ermanar asked, ignorant of the strategy that Lucius had just pulled off.
"That bastard!" Lugotorix screamed before turning to his Captain, "That Roman has just used the Double Envelopment!"
"What do you speak of?"
"Nearly 200 hundreds year ago, the Romans were facing Hannibal at a valley known as Cannae. The Romans outnumbered Hannibal greatly, so Hannibal did the unthinkable, he deliberately weakened his center to trap the Romans, funneling their numbers closely together to the point where they were useless! Then he whipped both his flanks around the Romans and completely destroyed them! And this Roman has done the exact same thing! That simple fool Cunovindus! He fell into the trap!"
Lugotorix slammed his fist into his leg and growled. He looked up at the inevitable development and shuddered in strange remote fear, and he muttered, "But to think, that this man would actually use a strategy that has been the bane of his people's existence against his enemy and actually win? In Wōden's name, what man are we facing?!"
But Cunovindus did not see. He didn't even know what was happening until it was too late. His horse was moving steadily up the hill, but it had eventually slowed down to a trot, and then it stopped moving at all. He angrily looked around to see why his horse had stopped moving forward, but then he noticed that his horse couldn't move anywhere. He was so packed in with his men that his horse couldn't even turn to the left if he wanted to.
Lucius had turn the strength of the numbers of the Germanic army into a weakness. While the front ranks of the Germanians were gradually advancing forward against the Roman center, the bulk of the barbarians began to lose their cohesion, as they began crowding themselves into the growing gap. Soon they were compacted together so closely that they had little space to even raise their arms. In pressing so far forward in Cunovindus' desire to destroy the retreating and seemingly collapsing line of the Romans, Cunovindus had ignored the legionaries who stood virtually uncommitted on the projecting ends of this now-reversed crescent.
By the time the Germanic Butcher realized his folly, it was too late. He ordered his men to leave the now "U formation" of the Roman encirclement, but all the Germanians were in such disarray that the retreat stalled. With the Roman flanks now folded in a "U", Antonius and his cavalry had the chance to move forward down the hill and turned around to target the last exposed piece of the Germanian army: the Germanian rear. The heavy Roman Cavalry galloped up the hills and began slaughtering any Germanian that tried to escape the encirclement. And just to ensure that the barbarians died quicker, Lucius ordered his 250 archers to rain down arrows on top of the unprotected Germanic heads still trapped in the pocket. There was no escape.
About every 30 seconds, approximately 400 Germanians were being decimated. Cunovindus turned to the forest that held his secret reserve of "special" Briton cavalry and gave the signal for the Lugotorix to attack. The ram horn blew three times and the burgundy banner waved forth in the wind.
Germanian-held Forest
Both of the Britons saw the signal clearly. Ermanar turned to his king and told him, "The signal, my king. I will rally the men." Lugotorix stared at the waving flag, then gazed at the Roman envelopment, and stared dead straight at the lone horseman who was Cunovindus.
Without turning his head, Lugotorix ordered in a cool voice, "Sound…the retreat."
Ermanar's eyes grew large as he looked back at the signal, as if to see that neither he nor his king misinterpreted it. The signal was clearly being given and yet the King of the Britons ordered for him and their 200 cavalrymen to retreat.
"B-But my king…" Ermanar stammered, "The Germanic king gives the signal to attack."
"The man is a lost cause," Lugotorix muttered lowly, his voice slowly breaking into a deep, gravel-like tone. "Let him die the way he lived…as a fool. Ermanar, we retreat. At once."
Ermanar nodded his head gravely. He did not question his king's decision, he only thought of the consequences such a decision could possibly have on the alliance. Ermanar moved back into the forest where the cavalry was beautifully hidden and ordered them, "Everyone, we move at once…away from the battle. Let us move!"
Lugotorix looked one last time at Cunovindus who was looking back at him, making sure that the Germanic king was watching. Lugotorix turned his back on him and left, abandoning him to the Romans.
Praxus Hill
The heart of the Germanic Butcher crumbled inside his chest. He felt the entire the world escape from underneath him. He could not believe it. His plan, his ace-in-the-hole; had abandoned him to a dishonorable fate. He was more confused than angry, more betrayed than bitter. He thought Lugotorix would obey his every command, but he had not obeyed the most vital. Why?
Two Roman arrows pierced Cunovindus' back, snapping him back to his unfortunate reality. Cunovindus cried out, cursing the Romans for wounding him so. He looked around and witnessed that most of his men were already dead, and the Roman legionaries were close to capturing him. The pain surged throughout his body, corrupting his heart and tainting his character. He was about to die, or worse, be captured by the Romans. What would they do to him? By the Gods, they would crucify him! Not that! Anything but that!
Fear plagued his heart, and in an act that contradicted his very morals and ethics; Cunovindus turned and ran. There was a small gap in the rear that Cunovindus slipped through between the Germanian swordsmen and the Roman cavalry. Cunovindus made his way through the gap and escaped back into the forest, leaving his entire army to die. The Germanians who witnessed their own king abandon them, grew dismayed and terrified and clambered after him. The entire morale of the remnant of the Germanic army—shattered.
They dropped their weapons and tried their absolute best to flee through the Roman cavalry that blocked their escape. Many died in the attempt as they were beseeched by the Romans on all sides, only a few of 75 barbarians escaped into the forest.
As the Romans watched as the entire Germanic army fled to the forest, they all stood together in virtual silence, excluding from the massive panting from exhausted soldiers. They were all astounded that they had fought against an army twice their number and against the Berserkers, the enemy that every legionary had feared, and most of them were still standing. The silence was slowly being broken as one-by-one soldiers began to chuckle with one another, pat each other on the back, and hugged one another; as they were all grateful to be alive.
But it was the General who walked forth and eyed the aftermath of the battle that would have the final word. The entire slope of the hill was covered with dead Germanians. It was almost impossible to take three steps without stepping on a barbarian corpse. In some patches, stacks of barbarian dead were at least five feet high. His men did this. His men. This was the culmination of decades of training and camaraderie. They have done it. They have won! This was the Glory of the Julii! This was the Glory of Rome!
Feeling cheerful pride swelling in his chest, Lucius Julius the Mighty, utterly proud at what his men had accomplished, raised his sword into the clouds and shouted at the top of his lungs, "ROMA VICTOR!"
The entire legion roared in celebration. The hill itself began to shake from the very reverberation of their celebration. They screamed until their lungs grew sore. They banged their bloody swords against their dented and scratched shields. They hugged and kissed each other and sang hearty songs of their victory. They were truly enthralled in their triumph.
Lucius looked out into the forest where Cunovindus escaped. It was a shame he was still alive, but he saw that he was mortally wounded, and most likely would die pretty soon. Lucius chuckled to himself, One less Germanic king to worry about.
Antonius came rushing towards Lucius' side, sporting an enormous smile of success and blurted the good news, "THE ENEMY ARE UTTERLY BEATEN! THIS IS A CRUSHING VICTORY, WORTHY OF A GREAT GENERAL!"
The men continued to cheer, Arminius placed his arm around Metellus and joyously told him, "The day is ours!"
"When is it fucking not?" Metellus cockily chuckled in reply.
Amidst the well-deserved merriment, Aelianus stared at his great general and pointed his sword at him. Raising his voice so that every Roman heard, Aelianus hollered in admiration, "JULIUS!"
Every Roman turned to Lucius and began chanting as one to the success of their general, "Julius! Julius! Julius! Julius! Julius! Julius!"
The thunderous din that echoed throughout the woods an across the hill, nearly brought proud tears to Lucius eyes. He smiled so hard that his cheeks felt as if they would burst. This was a great victory, one well deserved to a man of his tactical genius. But it was all thanks to these men! His elite Twenty-Eighth! He wouldn't trade them for any legion in the past or for a legion in the future. By the Gods, was he proud of his men! They had done the ultimate deceptive maneuver that the Romans ever knew, the one that stung the most in their renowned history. And they performed it beautifully! He thanked the gods for having such high quality men, and he praised the gods for allowing him this victory. The oracle was right, as he had put faith in his men, they brought him victory.
The chanting and applause of their great leader roared unto the heavens. Lucius raised his sword in the air and shouted the words, "Twenty-Eighth!" This victory was truly historic. An outnumbered legion of 6,000 men vanquished the Germanic army of 12,500 barbarians. While 952 Romans were killed in the battle—with about 350 wounded—the Germanians had lost close to 12,000 men. The entire Germanic army of Cunovindus the Butcher was effectively destroyed. This victory was extraordinary, but it was only second to the Battle of Lucretian Bridge, where the 28th Legion fought against 16,000 Gauls. But the Battle of Praxus Hill will always be remembered in the annals of the 28th Legion's illustrious history and of the Julii's history—as a Heroic Victory.
Whew! I am so happy that I finally finished the Battle of Praxus Hill, I honestly thought that this one battle would not take up the whole summer...but it did.
I want to thank -Elder Sibling, for pointing out the change from the Berserkers in Invictus from the Berserkers RTW. In the game, Berserkers are light infantry meaning they are vulnerable to missile attacks. I was completely shocked to find that out last month when I was researching them for this chapter. They were completely tossing my men around like rag-dolls, so I always assumed they were heavy infantry. So when I realized that Berserkers were weak to arrows and I had 250 archers on the Romans side and already promised the Berserkers in the previous chapter…you could see the conundrum I was facing :(
So I took artistic liberties for the sake of drama and changed them from light infantry to heavy infantry so that they could become the truly dreaded monsters of the Germanic army.
For any of you with constructive criticism about how the battle was detailed, don't be afraid to message me. If some things are unclear, or the pacing was too fast or too slow, please tell me so I may edit this chapter and write cleaner and more concise battles in the future.
I would dearly like to thank everyone who is continually reading this fic and leaving comments for me. I want you all to note that it is keeping me committed to the story. I have only gotten this far to the coveted battle scene AND finished it because of your continued support. Truly, thank you all!
-Kanuro5