Tiberius

Not far away, another gladiator, Tiberius, was fighting with unyielding fury. Towering and broad, his bare torso glistened with sweat, muscles swollen and flexed as he carved into the Roman line. Tiberius caught sight of a knot of Roman soldiers locked in combat with his comrades, their backs turned to him. His eyes narrowed — if he struck now, he could break their line in one blow. With a grunt, he slammed his sword point-first into the soil, the blade quivering in the dirt at his feet.

He turned and bent low, thick arms reaching around a massive boulder half-buried behind him. Muscles swelled and flexed as he pried it loose from the soft earth, his biceps and shoulders bulging. With a roar of effort, he heaved the rock high above his head, veins standing out across his thick arms and shoulders as he hoisted the boulder overhead. His chest was stretched, his abs ridged and hard, his whole body flexing with raw strength. The black leather belt that held his tunic in place slipped lower on his hips as he strained. The massive gladiator’s bare, sweat-slick torso gleamed under the torchlight, each cut of muscle standing out like chiseled stone. Sweat ran in rivulets down his naked torso. Tiberius’ display of raw power was impressive, but it also left him momentarily vulnerable.

Tiberius turned, the massive boulder raised high above his head in a show of brute power. But as he prepared to hurl it, a Roman soldier broke free from the chaos and lunged at him. The soldier crouched low, his sword cocked back. His left hand clamped onto Tiberius’ sweat-slick torso, fingers digging into the muscle of his flank. Tiberius looked down, eyes catching the flash of steel — but his chest and abs were stretched wide, helplessly exposed. There was no time to react. The Roman’s blade tore forward with explosive force—

ssssssSSST!!!

—ramming into the center of the gladiator’s abdomen, viciously splitting muscle and flesh before burying itself deep in his core.

“AAAAHHHH!!!” Tiberius roared as the blade ripped into his bare belly, his massive frame convulsing, the boulder tumbling from his hands to crash uselessly into the dirt.

The soldier braced his left hand against Tiberius’ shoulder and, with a brutal shove, drove the full blade into his belly to the hilt—

ssssssSSST!!!

—forcing it clean through the gladiator’s torso until the point burst out of his back in a spray of blood.

“AAAAAAHHHHHHH!!!” the gladiator bellowed in agony, his huge chest heaving as the steel split him open.

Snarling with triumph, the first Roman slammed his palm against Tiberius’ chest and ripped his sword free in a violent spray, then stepped back, arm cocked for another thrust. But before he could strike again, another soldier rushed in from behind, shoving him aside without hesitation — eager to plunge his blade into the defenseless muscle-bound gladiator’s belly. The charging soldier’s sword was already drawn back, and in the same motion, he rammed it forward—

ssssssSSST!!!

—driving the steel deep into Tiberius’ unguarded belly. Flesh and muscle split with a wet crunch, the point bursting out his back in another spray of crimson. Tiberius’ eyes went wide, his mouth gaping open in shock.

“AAAHHH!!!” the cry tore from his throat, shorter now, weakened but still filled with pain.

The gladiator snapped forward at the waist, his huge arms lashing out in a desperate surge, his hands clamping around the second soldier’s wrist as the steel burned inside him. The Roman ripped the blade free in a burst of blood, grinning at the sight of the massive gladiator writhing helplessly before him.

The two Romans, satisfied their work was done and convinced the big gladiator was finished, faded back into the chaos of the battle.

Though Roman steel had already been driven through his belly twice, Tiberius still stood, dazed and disoriented, yet defiant, refusing to fall. He staggered aimlessly through the raging battlefield, weaving between clashing swords and falling bodies, his massive frame swaying with each step. Blood streamed down his naked torso, his massive chest heaving as he stumbled blindly on.

Tiberius staggered clumsily and bumped against the back of a Roman soldier who had just cut down another gladiator, the slabs of muscle covering the gladiator’s sweat-slick chest pressing heavily against the soldier’s cold steel armor. The startled Roman spun around in a panic, bracing for a blade to run him through — but instead found Tiberius, barely conscious, sagging helplessly against him.

Realizing the massive gladiator was grievously wounded and defenseless, the Roman could hardly believe his fortune. One muscle-bound gladiator already lay fallen at his feet; another, more muscular still, sagged against him now — dazed, defenseless, his blood-smeared muscular belly heaving, laid bare as a hollow prize won without honor, an easy target for the Roman’s blade.

Mars smiles upon me today, the soldier thought as the big, muscular gladiator’s naked torso stood bare before him, helpless and wide open.

He shoved Tiberius back with his left hand jammed into the gladiator’s heaving chest, then callously thrust his sword forward—

ssssssSSST!!!

—the blade tore into Tiberius’ upper abs just below the sternum. The steel sank deep, parting thick muscle, bowing the gladiator’s body around the thrust and running him clean through.

“UUUUHHHHH!!!” The guttural cry was weaker now, fading, torn from the gladiator’s chest as his great body broke.

Barely conscious, Tiberius managed only a weak groan, his muscles clenching instinctively around the blade buried inside him. The Roman yanked it free in a rush of blood, pulled his hand away from the gladiator’s chest, and let the big gladiator pitch forward into the dirt.

Tiberius did not rise. He was dead. With barely a glance at the fallen gladiator, the Roman stepped over Tiberius’ magnificent body, sprawled lifeless across the blood-soaked ground, and faded back into the chaos of the raging battle.