The arrow formed from divine light in hues of yellow, pink, and blue streaked across the sky like a meteor, tearing through the Roman ranks before anyone could react.
It was as though it pierced through paper, ripping through the solid lines that had withstood the Hun's cavalry and Mangu Dai charges, shattering the disciplined phalanx of Rome's elite heavy infantry with ease.
The tricolored blade incinerated any soldier it touched, their forms evaporating in an instant. But this was only the beginning. When the sword struck the ground, its true power finally detonated.
The Roman phalanx had spanned several miles in an orderly formation, a grand display of sixty thousand soldiers arrayed in four supporting lines. But in one strike, Attila obliterated a third of their ranks, annihilating Tiberius's prized adult legionaries, the backbone of his army.
With a single attack, over twenty thousand soldiers perished—the power of the Hun Queen had far surpassed the limits of any mortal.
"So… this is what we're up against?"
Tiberius's face twisted with despair. He coughed up a mouthful of blood, his spirit crushed. He knew then that he had lost. All hope of saving Rome was gone. He could only watch as his beloved Empire fell.
"Hunnic King… Hunnic King!!"
His voice shook with fury and anguish. Attila remained indifferent. She stretched out a small hand, summoning back her Sword of Mars, which returned to her in a tricolored flash.
"Rome," she declared coldly, "is a corrupt civilization."
Though Attila made no further move, the Roman army had already lost its will to fight. The first and second lines—the backbone of Rome's strength—lay in ruins. Few of the seasoned troops remained, with only the young and lightly armored soldiers lingering in the third and fourth ranks.
Those remaining, with little training or experience, had been so thoroughly terrorized by the display of tricolor light that they could no longer muster the courage to stand against Attila.
Hunnic riders looked upon Attila with awe, chanting praises to the "Scourge of God" and "Sword of Mars."
Then, slowly, the Roman soldiers began to break ranks, their armor and weapons abandoned in retreat. The rout was absolute.
Tiberius's legion had only six thousand true Romans among its ranks, most of them archers and cavalry he'd held in reserve. The rest were barbarian allies.
The collapse of the barbarian troops was enough to send Tiberius into a rage. Though they were not Romans, their loss was a bitter blow, for they were Rome's last fighting force. The specter of Rome's end was now inevitable.
While Roman soldiers held their ground, the barbarian allies were completely undone by their fear of Attila. In a frenzy, some turned and fled straight toward Tiberius's command center.
Through clenched teeth, Tiberius ordered, "Kill any barbarian that approaches the center. No mercy!"
Meanwhile, Hunnic riders encircled and chased down the retreating troops, picking them off like prey. For the first time, the Huns finally had their familiar rhythm in battle.
But even the Hun cavalry, weary after hours of combat, were fighting on sheer fear of Attila, their lethargic strikes failing to keep pace with the earlier carnage. By nightfall, they'd only managed to kill another ten thousand Romans—a number still shy of Attila's single devastating blow.
Attila gave a dispassionate order, "Withdraw and rest. Tomorrow, we shall storm Rome and destroy this decadent civilization."
Then, the cold Scourge of God shifted, tilting her head with a slight pout as she clutched her stomach. "I'm hungry. Tonight, I want ten deer…"
"Your Majesty, venison is rather heaty; even for you, it's best not to eat too much!"
"Fine, then let's go with some sheep and cattle!" she said, raising her small fist in triumph.
Perhaps, to the Hunnic Queen, destroying Rome was as simple a decision as her choice of dinner.
In spite of all Tiberius's efforts, he managed to gather only a thousand men in the aftermath—all of them dark-haired, black-eyed Romans. The barbarians were either dead or had fled. Even those who survived had no intention of following Tiberius to fight against Attila.
Withdrawing her troops, Attila seemed content to leave Tiberius unpursued, abandoning him to his desperate scramble to survive as she prepared to enjoy her roasted dinner.
Tiberius's heart was desolate. With his thousand men, he took all the supplies they could carry, burned what was left, and requested permission to return to Rome to make his final stand.
Nepos, upon hearing the news, abandoned all hope. Locking himself away, he fell into a world of revelry, as if to indulge in every moment left to him.
Euric brought Tiberius into the city. When he finally saw him, Euric barely recognized him.
The once-dignified Roman general, known for his refined and traditional elegance, seemed decades older. His once-dark hair had gone streaked with gray, his clothes hung in tatters, and his face had the hollow, lifeless look of a man stripped of his pride.
Attila's single strike had not only broken the Emperor's will but had nearly shattered Tiberius's own.
Tiberius had given up on saving Rome. All he wished for now was to die defending it.
Euric brought Tiberius to his home and said, "I've decided to depose Nepos as Emperor and make my son Romulus the new ruler of Rome."
Tiberius might have flown into a rage had he heard these words only a day before, but now he barely reacted, his head bowed in apathy. Seeing this, Euric continued, "Nepos has lost the will to lead. We need someone who can save Rome—"
"Why are you telling me this?" Tiberius interrupted, his tone weary. "You've seen the result: I failed miserably. Six thousand soldiers dead, and only a thousand left to rally. Not even my own Romans stayed."
"We can't hold against her. That woman… the Hunnic King is beyond any human strength Rome can muster."
"I had considered making you Emperor," Euric murmured. "But it seems that's not possible now. My son shall have the throne."
Tiberius remained unmoved, even offering logical counsel. "You'll fail, Euric. Rome won't recognize you if you take the throne in a time like this."
"Then so be it," Euric said with a laugh. "But I am a servant of Rome, nothing more, and I would never claim what is not mine."
"For Rome's glory and honor!" Euric declared, his voice full of resolve. As a Romanized barbarian, he wanted, like Tiberius, to see Rome's last days out in honor. He would not stage a coup in the Empire's prime but stand by its side in its final moments.
"Well, I wish you success, Euric."
Tiberius replied calmly, "I haven't been home in decades. Let me walk through Rome one last time."
"Go on, then," said Euric, gesturing with a nod.
Tiberius left, walking through the empty streets without a single soldier by his side—a jarring sight for the general, who had spent his life surrounded by legions. Habit ran deep in him, and he felt the weight of his isolation profoundly.
Slowly, he made his way to the heart of Rome, to the Forum.
The Roman Forum, set among the Palatine, Capitoline, and Esquiline hills, had served as the city's bustling heart since Rome's founding. Temples, basilicas, the Senate house, triumphal arches, and monuments crowded every corner.
The city's grandeur shone brightest here, with the largest forum dedicated to Trajan, one of the Five Good Emperors, whose reign saw Rome's greatest glory. Rome had never again reached such heights.
Gazing at the Forum's splendor, Tiberius collapsed before a temple, sobbing uncontrollably.
"Kneeling before the Seven Hills of Rome," he cried, "before the great Romulus, our divine Caesar, and the noble Five Good Emperors…"
"Oh Rome, great Rome, is this truly our end?"
As he wept, his sorrow spread to those around him, the people of Rome, and they too began to cry for their city's fate.
Turning to Mars, the god of war and Rome's patron, he begged, "O Mars, lord of war, will you not protect Rome one last time?"
But there was no answer. Mars, known to the Greeks as Ares, had fallen to the White Titan Sefar. Earth's Age of Gods was gone, and now, Attila, Sefar's avatar, was coming to destroy Rome itself.
Seeing the despair around him, Tiberius felt a spark of resistance.
He rose and shouted, "Citizens of Rome, we stand at the edge of ruin!"
"Defending Rome is every citizen's duty! I, Tiberius, your general, call upon any who would fight to stand behind me. I will give you weapons, and together we shall defend this great and noble city!"
But as he finished, silence fell over the crowd. Romans ceased their weeping and stared at him in stunned silence.
He waited, hoping against hope, but no one moved to join him in defending Rome.
In those few short moments, Tiberius's face changed from hope to despair. Still, he stood firm, waiting for someone—anyone—to come forward.
But Rome's citizens had long grown accustomed to hiring foreigners to fight. Euric, a Germanic barbarian, held the highest military rank, while true-born Romans made up a fraction of the army. They were a people softened by Rome's former splendor, too afraid now to face Attila.
And so Tiberius waited alone in the Forum, an old man hunched and silent. As dawn broke, still no Roman came to his side.
They were too afraid, too terrified of the Hun King.
It was absurd. Tiberius had faced Attila's world-shattering attack and still had the resolve to stand, while these citizens, hearing rumors, cowered.
Covered in dew and frost, he said bitterly, "So… Rome has no one left, does it?"
"Then I shall defend Rome, alone."
Donning his armor and seizing his sword, he resolved, "This is my duty as a Roman."
The Hun King sounded the horn of Rome's destruction once more.
Tiberius took his place at the city wall. The night had seen most soldiers desert, a result of Euric's coup, and chaos reigned among the ranks. Tiberius knew that with Nepos and Euric battling, the troops were torn between orders, paralyzed by doubt.
Alone, he jumped down from the battlements and stood before the great city's gates. He would not see Rome's historic walls breached, preferring to die defending her.
As Attila approached the city with her ten thousand Huns, she noted his presence. Yet, to her, this old soldier meant nothing.
"I remember you," she said, her voice cold. "The Roman general. Where is your army?"
"Hun King, if you wish to breach Rome, you'll have to step over my body first."
Tiberius drew his blade, staring down Attila and her army. "I will give my heart for Rome!"
The faintest hint of respect crossed Attila's face as she said, "Then I will grant your wish."
With all her might, she raised her Sword of Mars high, unleashing its full power in a sweeping strike aimed not just at the city but directly at Tiberius, who stood defiantly before it.
The tricolored light turned into a devastating beam, as if all the power of a holy sword had been summoned to one final attack.
Tiberius raised his sword to meet the light, his lone figure silhouetted against the fury. His armor and flesh melted away under the relentless power, but he held firm, diverting the light's path so that it grazed Rome's walls.
Rome was saved, but Tiberius, drained of flesh and blood, collapsed, his heart still faintly beating.
As his spirit teetered at the edge of oblivion, he heard a mischievous voice.
"Hey, why didn't you call for me?"
"Surely, Rome's most dazzling flower, its greatest performer, its own Apollonian Muse, deserves mention in such times?"
"But don't worry. I forgive you."
"After all, I am Rome."
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T/N: Finally... time to change the cover umu
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