Marcus walked straight from the sands of the arena to the Imperial Box.
He didn't wipe the blood from his armor. He tracked red footprints across the marble stairs.
The Senators who had sat in the box—men who had cheered for Valerius only minutes ago—were trying to leave. They scrambled toward the rear exit, their togas fluttering like the wings of panicked pigeons.
"Door," Marcus said.
Narcissus slammed the heavy bronze doors shut. He stood in front of them, his axe resting on his shoulder. He was still wearing his pirate-stained armor. He smelled of smoke and old fish.
"Going somewhere, Conscript Fathers?" Narcissus growled.
The Senators froze.
Senator Priscus, the man who had funded Valerius's army, turned to face Marcus. He was trembling.
"Caesar," Priscus stammered. "We... we were coerced. Valerius held our families."
Marcus walked past him. He picked up a silver pitcher of wine from the table and drank straight from the spout. He washed the taste of dust and copper from his mouth.
"Coerced," Marcus repeated. He wiped his lips.
He looked at the arena below. The lions were being released to clean up the bodies.
"You funded the green fire," Marcus said calmly. "You paid for the copper wire in his suit. You locked the gates of Ravenna."
"It was politics!" Priscus pleaded. "We had to choose a side!"
"And you chose the losing one," Marcus said.
He nodded to Narcissus.
"Strip them."
"What?" Priscus gasped.
"Take off the togas," Marcus ordered. "You aren't Senators anymore. You are sponsors."
The pirates moved in. They ripped the fine wool garments from the screaming old men.
"Throw them down," Marcus said, pointing to the balcony rail.
"You can't!" Priscus shrieked as Narcissus grabbed him by the belt. "We are the Senate of Rome!"
"Rome has one head," Marcus said. "If you grow another, I will cut it off."
Narcissus threw Priscus over the rail.
The scream was short. The roar of the lions below was loud.
One by one, the conspirators were fed to the beasts they had paid for. The crowd went wild. They thought it was part of the show.
Maybe it was.
An hour later, Marcus sat in the tepidarium of the Imperial Palace.
Steam rose from the warm water. A slave scrubbed the dried blood from his back.
The door opened.
Galen walked in. The physician carried a wooden box. He looked terrified. He had helped Marcus win, but he was also the man who had started the war.
"Are you going to feed me to the lions too?" Galen asked, clutching the box.
Marcus leaned his head back against the marble rim.
"Did you bring it?"
Galen nodded. He opened the box. Inside was a glass vial containing a black, granular powder.
"Sulfur," Galen whispered. "Charcoal. And saltpeter from the bat caves in Spain."
"Does it burn?" Marcus asked.
"It explodes," Galen said. "I tested it in the courtyard. It shattered a stone vase."
Marcus smiled. He took the vial. He swirled the black powder—gunpowder—in the glass.
"Valerius failed because he thought small," Marcus said. "He wanted to build a better sword. I want to build a new world."
He looked at Galen.
"I'm giving you the Palatine Hill. The entire eastern wing. You will have gold. You will have slaves. You will have resources Valerius only dreamed of."
Galen blinked. "You... you want me to be your physician?"
"No," Marcus said. "I have doctors. I need a madman."
He held up the vial.
"I want you to build me a thousand barrels of this. I want you to figure out how to put it in a tube and throw lead with it."
"You want to weaponize thunder," Galen realized, horror and fascination warring in his eyes.
"I want to kill the future," Marcus said. "Before it kills us."
Later that night, the War Room was silent.
Marcia stood by the table. She looked different. The "Saint" robes were gone. She wore a simple Roman stola, but she stood straighter. She wasn't a concubine anymore. She was a partner.
On the table sat the laptop.
"JARVIS," Marcus said. "Open the Parthian file."
DECRYPTING...
SOURCE: ADMIRALTY LOGS - PARTHIAN ROYAL NAVY.
TRANSLATION COMPLETE.
A hologram flickered to life above the laptop screen—a new trick Galen had rigged using polished lenses and the screen's backlight.
It was a map of the world. But it wasn't the Roman map. It went further East than any Roman map had ever gone.
It showed the Parthian Empire. But beyond that, it showed a massive red stain moving West.
"What is that?" Narcissus asked, pointing to the red mass.
" The Han Dynasty," Marcus said. "China."
He zoomed in.
"The Parthians didn't build that fleet to fight us," Marcus explained. "They built it to protect their flank. They are moving their armies West because they are being pushed."
He pointed to the Silk Road.
"The Dragon is awake. The Chinese Emperor has allied with the Parthian King. They are creating a trade monopoly. They are cutting off the Silk Road."
"So?" Narcissus shrugged. "We don't need silk."
"It's not about silk," Marcus said. "It's about the timeline."
He looked at Marcia.
"In my history—in the real history—this never happened. Rome fell slowly. It rotted from the inside. But this..."
He pointed to the massive coalition army gathering in Ctesiphon.
"This is an extinction event. They have combined the horse archers of Parthia with the engineering of China. And they are coming here."
The room went cold.
They had just won a civil war. They were exhausted. Rome was broken. And now, a superpower twice their size was marching toward the Euphrates.
"We can't fight that," Pompey said, rubbing his beard. "We don't have the men."
"We don't have the men," Marcus agreed.
He picked up the vial of black powder Galen had left.
"But we have the fire."
He stood up. He walked to the balcony overlooking the city.
Rome was wounded. Smoke still rose from the Subura. The Colosseum was a dark hulk in the moonlight.
But it was his.
He picked up the purple cloak—the Paludamentum of the Emperor. He threw it over his shoulders. It covered the scars on his arms. It hid the bruises.
But it couldn't hide the look in his eyes.
"We spent this year fighting for our lives," Marcus said to the night.
He turned back to his council.
"Next year, we fight for the world."
"JARVIS," Marcus commanded.
ONLINE.
"Initialize Protocol: Alexander."
PROTOCOL: ALEXANDER INITIATED.
OBJECTIVE: TOTAL CONQUEST OF THE EAST.
LOADING ASSETS...
Marcus smiled.
"Long live the Emperor."