In the early ages of the world, according to scripture chronology, there were no kings; the consequence of which was there were no wars; it is the pride of kings, which throws mankind into confusion…how impious is the title of ‘sacred majesty’ applied to a worm, who in the midst of his splendor is crumbling to dust…of more worth is one honest man to society, in the sight of God, than all the crowned ruffians that ever lived...in short, monarchy and succession have laid, not this or that kingdom only, but the world in blood and ashes.
—Thomas Payne
Common Sense
It was 2310 A.D.
Rome was in complete control yet again, having re-conquered their original Empire, and having left room for expansion.
The United Kingdom joined Rome’s venture; control or be controlled, and they chose the former. The United States of America, once great and powerful, turned its back on the God of its Forefathers, and ultimately crashed, sending thousands of immigrants to the new European Empire. A new currency was introduced, the United Pound. It was coinage, holding the image of Rome’s new Empress, Octavia Augustine. She ordered the Russian President to join forces with her. He politely declined. Almost immediately, a war commenced. The Russian President was the first casualty, a victim of a well-planned assassination by Belgian citizen of Russia, Pierre Louis. Louis was killed by Russian security immediately afterward the President was pronounced dead. His wife was imprisoned for treason, and his children; Pierre Jr. and Cassia, were sold to Rome…into slavery.
Slaves of Rome were rounded up, trained, and sent to various stadiums around Europe for entertainment purposes. Augustine had resurrected the time of the gladiators. Since the pull of humanitarians was still strong, the games were humane; docile, even, and the crowds loved it. People came from all over the world—what was left of it—to watch the games and tournaments that were fought in jest, almost as if it were a play. It was a tourist attraction.
They loved it, until one day a real sword made it onto the stadium field. They loved that until a real man fell, with real blood spilling from his all-to-real wounds.
Then they became addicted. They begged Augustine to allow the gladiators to use real swords and spears. They pleaded, bribed, and threatened, but Augustine would not allow it. Especially since her sons were some of the prize “fighters”.
So Augustine cancelled the games. She forbid anyone to train to become a gladiator, and swords, spears, and armor were outlawed. Gladiators were dispersed throughout the European military in order to quench their thirst for thrill.
And life continued on like normal. Or, as normal as modern life would get, anyway.
Now it is 2420 A.D., and even Russia belongs to Rome, along with parts of Africa and Australia as well. The United States is a place for refuges, but only if they are willing to fight just to survive in an Apocalyptic-style setting.
So Rome got bored. More specifically, Aphelia Augustine, direct descendant of Octavia Augustine, Empress of Rome, got bored.
Aphelia Augustine only knew of one way to cure her boredom, since she saw no reason to start yet another conquest…not so soon, anyway. Power wasn’t as much fun as her father had made it out to be.
And the only way to cure Aphelia Augustine’s boredom…was to resurrect the gladiator.
She searched far and wide for the prime candidates that would comprise her first team of fighters. A man named Remy Lougre, her prize bodyguard, seemed to fit the bill. He was young, strong, and quick with a weapon, light on his feet. And the rest, with Remy’s excellent training, would follow suit.
Soon enough she had an impressive team of gladiators. She had the grand idea to have different empires fight each other, much like Olympics. It was a fantastic idea, in theory. But when the day of the tournaments came, and the battles commenced, everyone forgot one thing. History repeats itself. No one learns from their ancestor’s mistakes. No one remembers that once you get accustomed to something weak, it will only remain appeasing if it is made to be stronger. Wooden toys won’t be shiny enough. But it wasn’t Aphelia Augustine’s strength that would wield those shiny weapons she so desired. It wasn’t Aphelia Augustine’s sweat that would trickle down her brow, mixing with the dust of the earth and the tears of pain. It wasn’t Aphelia Augustine’s blood that was spilled in the stadium. Was that fair? No, of course not. But that is the way that monarchies work. The big people get what they want, and the little people are the ones to pay for it.
It is by the strong spirit of one of these “little people” that the rest were able to thrive. It was because of one man that all the rest were able to live. It was the work of one man that brought Rome to its knees.
