Ballista was driven back off of his feet as he tried desperately to keep his shield held firm. To lose it now would put him at a serious disadvantage as his shorter sword, good for thrusting, was not ideal against Hannibal’s longer cavalry blade. However, after a dozen devastating blows that made Ballista’s arm feel as if every bone in it had been broken, he could not bear the onslaught further as his shield was finally knocked free.

Ballista screamed in agony as a bone in his wrist did indeed snap. His shield, now broken into three pieces splintered to the ground as it dropped into the mud-soaked ground. Before he could react, Ballista only saw the blur of Hannibal’s blade come racing toward his face. A moment later he felt the sharp sting as his flesh unzipped as the tip of the iron blade was drawn across his brow, down his nose, and tearing out a chunk of his right cheek.

Hannibal’s strike was done purposely. He did not attend to kill Ballista, not yet.

“You filthy whore!” Ballista spat a mouthful of blood, which landed against Hannibal’s broad leg as he stood poised over him. “You think you’ve won a great victory here? You’ve accomplished nothing! Rome will see you crucified at the stake for this crime. I only hope you live long enough to see Carthage burn, and its people sold into slavery before your end comes, dog!”

Hannibal smiled as drizzles of Ballista’s blood dripped from his sword tip.

“It is Rome that will burn, and it is your Senate that will lick the shitfrom my feet before I’m done. Nevertheless, I’m afraid you won’t be alive to see that day come to pass.” Hannibal reached back, brining his sword high over his head before he plunged it down with all his might.

The heavy iron blade sliced into Ballista’s head, splitting his skull like a burning stone drenched with water. Brain and bone mixed with hair, and blood gushed over Hannibal as he held his sword firm for a long moment as he savored his kill — the first Roman he’d ever slain in battle. He knew with eager anticipation that Ballista only represented the birth of many more to come. Soon, even if it took years more Hannibal would build on his victory and march across Gaul, over the Alps and into Italy. The people there would rise and join him to be free of the Republic’s yoke, and with his will and the armies he shall raise in the coming years, gods willing the walls of Rome will be torn down and the arrogant people who think themselves superior to other men will bow before Hannibal, begging with their dying breath for his mercy.

The rest of Ballista’s men were dealt with in short-order as Hannibal’s guards slaughtered all those that stood firm against their overwhelming numbers. Within moments, the first men stormed into the gatehouse, slaughtering those defenders still within before freeing the city gates from their chains.

The ground rumbled as Hannibal stood among the dead. A moment later as the southern gate opened his brother Mago, and twenty riders charged into Saguntum, followed by hundreds more soldiers who ran in all directions, roaring with murder on the mind as they moved deeper into the city.

“Well done, brother. I’m sorry you left me so few to kill,” Mago grinned as he stopped his horse near Hannibal, who looked almost unrecognizable as he was covered head — to-toe with the gore of his enemies.

“There are plenty more waiting to face our iron, brother. Do not let them wait much longer,” Hannibal replied, Mago laughing hard as he reared his horse and ordered his men forward. The city was open to them and in a few hours, there would be no male left alive to defend it.

“Please general, I beg you!” the cries of the city-father were cut short as the axe blade sliced through the soft flesh of his neck, freeing his body of the burden of the man’s head, which rolled carelessly onto the blood-soaked ground before it was picked up by one of Hannibal’s men, and tossed into the pile of two dozen other skulls that sat near the corner of the citadel walls. This same scene had been repeated two dozen times over the past hour as Hannibal, standing with his brother by his side, his drunken men surrounding him, stood with a wide smile as he watched his enemies fall before him, one by one.

The sun was still set high in the sky, beaming its blazing heat down upon the ruins of Saguntum, which burned as its streets and buildings were filled with the terrifying screams of women being raped, and men botched like pigs. The blood that had soaked Hannibal caked and dried like that of an erred lake bed as he took a long swig of wine before passing it to his brother.

“Ah, it was a hard fight — long and brutal, but you did it, my brother. You truly did it!” Mago bellowed as the warm honey wine drizzled down his gullet. “But shouldn't we spare at least a few of these vermin to ransom to Rome?”

“No. Rome, and all those that hear of this victory will learn what it means to defy me, brother,” Hannibal replied harshly as another man was dragged forth, an older man, fat, wearing a Roman toga, looking to be in his early sixties. He begged for his life as so many others had already, offering his captives all the riches they could ever hope to spend. Little did he know Hannibal had everything the man own, save for his life, which he was about to take momentarily.

“So what now? One victory does not make us conquers,” Mago asked bitterly.

Hannibal snorted. Mago was the most pessimistic of his brothers. However, it was his realistic view of the world that made him valuable to Hannibal’s campaigns. He wasn’t interested in ass-kisserslike that of a Roman consul.

“No, it does not. Even so, this victory will go a long way in subduing those Gallic tribes that stand in our way. Those that were not fearful of us will now back off, and those that will stand before us, we can pay off.”

“And those that don’t do either?” Mago asked.

Hannibal turned towards him. “We crush them,” he answered simply.

As the old man’s head was taken and his body, which twitched violently, was dragged away, Hannibal reached out and took the wine skin before taking a deep breath. “But Rome is not Saguntum. It shall not prove as easy.”

“Eight months is hardly easy,” Mago commented, knowing full well that wasn’t what his brother was speaking of.

“Indeed. There will be many more battles, harder fought that we will encounter, brother, and our men must be ready. I want only the strongest for this journey. The trek and those we face on the path to Rome will weed out the weak. When we reach Italy, Rome will be facing an army the likes it has never seen before.”

Mago smiled as he slapped his brother on the shoulder. “Then my brother, we have a lot of work to do before your war with Rome can begin. Maybe even year’s worth before the first drop of Roman blood is spilled.

Hannibal smiled as his mind drifted to the days and months to come, perhaps even years, it did not matter how long it took as he was one step closer today to his goal than he had been yesterday. After a lifetime, his family’s wraith was finally being turned where it was meant to be directed. Rome and all those that serve under its banner would bleed.

Gaius steadied his breathing to calm himself. He listened carefully as he stayed within the tall brown wheat that was almost ready for harvest. He couldn’t hear anything save for the sounds of the wind as it blew across the seemingly endless field. A few geese flew overhead in perfect formation; their constant honking braking the pristine quiet momentarily as they passed high above. The only other sound was the thumping of his heart. And then, he heard a sudden rustling in the grass to his right.

Gaius held his breath as he gripped the hilt of his sword tighter, with the blade at the ready. After a few tense seconds, the noise sounded again, nearer to his position; sweat dripped from his brow as he knelt on one knee.