He could feel the anger coursing through his veins. The Arena flashed in his mind. All those men he killed, for the pleasures of the rich. No, he didn’t come this far to be a slave again. Dhum! Dhum! Dhum! The sound of beating drums. The legions!

Spartacus raised his sword and pointed it towards the slaves. Slaves? These men weren’t just slaves! Survivors of the Arena, former soldiers sold into slavery, these were the fiercest men in all of Rome. Those overpaid legionnaires were no match for his men.

Spartacus cleared his throat. “They thought I would forget, but I remember. I remember everything! I remember those brave men who fought and bled with me! Every breath we take is a gift from our fallen brothers! The Romans think they can capture us. No my brothers, there will be no retreat, no surrender. Tonight, we fight to the death!”

Seventy thousand blades rose in the air. Seventy thousand roars, drowning the beating drums. Tonight would be the best fight of his life. Spartacus smiled to himself. He turned around and charged, towards certain death.

© Shine_Ali