Maximus breathed in deeply, letting the cool night air soothe the rasp of his dry throat. He had been fighting for hours. And there were no time-outs in war. His eyes searched the vista that lay before him languidly, and just as the sun began to rise above the distant mountains he had a thought. Why is a scene of such despair always so pleasing to the eye.

And true he was that this scene was of despair, as strewn around his feet were the bodies of the dead and dying, bleeding their last into the desert sand. Staining the ground red.

He shook his head as he came upon a familiar face among the damned. The boy was young, barely out of adolescence, his head shaved as was the custom of the legions. His name was Marius, and he had joined a few years prior. A good lad.

Maximus sighed. As of a few months ago, he had been with the legion for 12 years, the majority of his adult life. He had joined at the age of 23. A strange age to join, young enough that he couldn't have done anything else meaningful in his life but still yet old enough to not have entered straight into the service.

The reason for this was an unsuccessful venture into the smithing business that lasted five humiliating and expensive years. Turns out people prefer to buy weapons from Rome than from a young Egyptian man.

And now here he stood in the kingdom of Nabataea, in a plot of land with no name having just participated in a battle that would not be remembered, all for Emperor Trajan's pride and greed. He looked down at the lacerated body of his comrade. What a stupid and meaningless way to die.

And yet those two words could be used to sum up Maximus's entire life. A father who had fought his entire life for citizenship so that his son could be better off than him, even giving his son a roman name in the hopes it would help him fit in. His dreams crushed by the fact that they lived in a place raided near constantly by Maximus's kin. Blood is thicker than water they always said. And although his father had bled time and time again for Rome, in its people eyes Maximus and he were still blood of the desert. Barbarian trash.

He through back a tanned, strong-featured face and let out a bellowing laugh. His father had wasted his youth on foreign battlefields for what? So that his son could do the same but in a different uniform? Pure and complete madness.

And at that moment, surrounded by the corpses of the damned Maximus wept at the futility of it all. Wept as men in red cloaks walked through the dead with spears, delivering quick deaths to wounded foes. Wept as allies begged for the same fate instead, being carried away to the dreaded medical tents where they would lose limbs and become burdens for life.

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His cries turned into laughs and he roared at the heavens, earning him several sideways looks from other men. It seemed another man had lost his mind in the storm of steel and flesh.

Damn Trajan, he thought. Damn the emperors and damn Rome. This was the first time in his life that Maximus had ever truly thought about deserting. He shook his head, hoping the physical gesture would help banish the stupid idea. He would not desert for although he harboured much hate for Rome an even stronger emotion lurked beneath the surface of his being. Fear. And he knew from experience that deserters would be hunted down like dogs. Because for a long time he had been the hunter.

A hand landed hard on his shoulder and Maximus, out of instinct, moved for the sword sheathed at his side.

"Woah my friend, jumpy are we?" The voice belonged to a man, Marcus Brittanicus Primus. Or just Marcus to his friends. Another member of the eight men that Maximus was forced to share sleeping quarters with.

"Jesus Marcus. Don't do that." Spat Maximus testily. He was in no mood for jokes.

"Lighten up my friend, we won the day. Why are you standing here brooding?"

"It's just..." He paused, at a loss for the right words. "Do you ever just get tired, of it all."

"Not really." Marcus was younger than Maximus and the fires of youth still burned in his eyes. Maximus envied that. His eyes had held nothing but tired resignation for years.

"Well, when you're older you'll understand." Sighed Maximus, done with the conversation. As of now he just wanted to slink into a cave and stay their forever. Never having to deal with the world and its madness again.

He would get his wish. But not how he wanted it.

"All right my friend. See you tonight ok?" He asked with what may have passed for genuine concern in Marcus's own fucked up little way.

"Yes." He said back quietly.

"Ok," Marcus said lightly before leaving Maximus to his thoughts. He was glad for it.

Then, unceremoniously and much to Maximus's dismay, he vanished. There was no fanfare, no bright flash of light or the booming voice of an omnipotent being. He was just there one second and gone the next.

In the perspective of the army, Maximus was written off as another deserter and, after a brief search that garnered nothing he was forgotten about. Just another casualty of war.

But for Maximus and for many others. Their story was only just beginning, and it would grow to encompass the entire world.