DISCLAMER

"I present a fanfiction based on Gladiator 2, following the same storyline as the original film but incorporating new characters. The second part of the story will be entirely fictional, but first, I will retell the events of the movie. I've taken many liberties with the original story, and since I am not an expert in Roman antiquity, there may be some inconsistencies. This story is simply a fanfiction meant for entertainment. I hope you enjoy it.

"I do not own Gladiator, or any of the related characters. The Gladiator movies were created by Ridley Scott and produced by Scott Free Productions and distributed by Paramount Pictures. This fanfiction is intended for entertainment only. I am not making any profit from this story. All rights of the original Gladiator story belong to Paramount Pictures."

The Beginning: The Fall of Numidia

The dusty skies of Numidia bore witness to a fateful moment when a boy, barely alive, stumbled into the village after escaping the chaos of Rome. He collapsed at the feet of Jubartha, a respected elder and warrior of the Numidian people.

The elder knelt beside him, his keen eyes assessing the boy's condition. "What is your name, child?"

The boy's voice was weak, but clear. "Lucius... Lucius Verus."

Jubartha studied him for a moment, noting his fine features and the foreignness of his clothes. Then, with a firm and decisive tone, he spoke. "You are no longer Lucius. From this day forward, you will be Hanno, a son of Numidia."

And so, Hanno was born. Jubartha took him in, raising him as his own and training him in the ways of the Numidian warriors. Years passed, and Hanno grew into a skilled and formidable fighter, his past buried beneath the weight of his new life. With Jubartha's guidance, he found the father and mentor he had lost.

The sun dipped low over the Numidian plains, painting the horizon with rich hues of amber and crimson. Hanno sat on the wooden steps of their modest farmhouse, working on a worn harness while Arishat, his wife, tended a clay pot simmering over the fire. Her dark curls framed her face, and her striking blue eyes sparkled with warmth as she glanced at him.

"You're hopeless with knots," she teased, her lips curling into a smile. "That horse will run free the moment you let go."

Hanno grinned, not looking up from his task. "If it does, I'll catch it. And I'll tell it that my wife sent it to remind me of my failings."

Arishat laughed, setting her task aside. She walked toward him, kneeling beside him, and their fingers brushed as she took the harness from his hands.

"Let me show you how it's done," she said softly.

He chuckled. "What would I do without you?"

For a fleeting moment, the world seemed to shrink, leaving only the two of them. Hanno leaned forward, cupping her face in his hands, and their lips met in a tender kiss.

Suddenly, the distant sound of horns broke the moment, signaling the village alarm. They pulled apart, their smiles fading as a silent understanding passed between them.

"It's time," Arishat said, her voice heavy with resolve.

"We knew this day would come," Hanno replied, his tone somber.

They grabbed their weapons quickly, joining the villagers in the central square where Jubartha was already rallying the defenders.

"Brothers, sisters!" the elder called. "We are Numidia! Our ancestors stood tall, and so will we! Fight not only for your lives but for the honor of those who came before us!"

Hanno's grip tightened on his sword, standing firm beside Arishat, who readied her bow with steady hands.

The earth trembled beneath the heavy march of the Roman legions, their iron-clad soldiers advancing with unwavering precision. At the front of the line stood General Marcus Acacius, his crimson cape billowing behind him. His cold, calculating gaze swept over the battlefield, but there was something in his eyes—a flicker of weariness, a hint of the toll that countless campaigns had taken on him.

As the battle raged, Arishat, stationed high on the village walls, loosed arrows with deadly accuracy, each shot finding its mark.

"Not one step further," she muttered fiercely, her aim unerring.

But soon, her skill drew the attention of Acacius. He raised his hand, signaling to his archers. "Take her down!"

Arishat fired again, her arrow striking a Roman soldier in the throat, but in that instant, an enemy arrow found its target in her chest. Her eyes widened in shock, and blood bloomed across her tunic. She staggered, clutching her wound, and fell from the battlements into the sea below.

"Arishat!" Hanno cried, his heart racing as he fought his way toward the wall.

Before he could reach her, a Roman soldier struck him from behind, sending him tumbling into the water after her.

The dark waters engulfed him, his consciousness flickering in and out. Then, a vision came to him—a shadowy boat drifting over a still, misty sea. On the deck stood Arishat, her figure ethereal, her dark curls flowing around her shoulders. Her blue eyes shimmered with a sad, soft light. Beside her, a hooded figure stood silently.

"Arishat! Don't go!" Hanno called out, desperate.

"My love," she whispered, her voice a soft murmur on the wind. "It is not your time yet. I will wait for you."

Her words lingered in the air as the vision slowly faded, leaving Hanno alone in the cold darkness, the weight of loss pressing down on him.

Hanno awoke on the riverbank, battered and bruised. The distant smoke of his village rose into the sky, and the anguished cries of the survivors filled the air. The village had fallen. Stumbling through the wreckage, he made his way toward the heart of the destruction, where Roman soldiers gathered the remaining villagers.

At the forefront, General Acacius surveyed the carnage, his face impassive. But for the first time, he felt the emptiness of his victories as the cries of the villagers gnawed at his conscience.

"For the glory of Rome!" he shouted, though the words lacked conviction.

Hanno was roughly shoved into the group of prisoners, his heart burning with rage. Beside him, Jubartha sat, his arm wrapped in a blood-soaked cloth.

Amidst the chaos, the bodies of the fallen lay piled high in the square, flames licking at the sky. Hanno watched, his grief and fury intertwining, the fire reflected in his eyes.

"They will pay," he murmured, his voice trembling with resolve. "Rome will pay for everything."