The air smelled of burning meat and ozone.
Marcus sprinted up the Via Sacra. His lungs burned. His legs felt like lead.
Behind him, the Airship loomed, its shadow swallowing the street.
THUD.
Another dart exploded, turning a cobblestone into shrapnel. A gladiator running next to Marcus disappeared in a cloud of red mist.
"Don't stop!" Marcus screamed. "The gate! Get to the gate!"
Ahead, the Palace entrance was a wall of bronze.
Fifty "Sentinels"—the steam-powered exoskeletons—stood shoulder to shoulder. They locked their massive riot shields together, forming a phalanx of metal and pistons.
Steam vented from their joints with a collective hiss that sounded like a dying dragon.
"We can't break that!" Galen yelled, ducking as a sniper bolt chipped the stone pillar beside him.
"We don't break it!" Marcus roared. "We swarm it!"
He didn't slow down. He pointed his broken Fire Lance forward like a spear.
"Hug them! Get inside the reach!"
The gladiators understood. You don't box a giant. You grapple him.
They crashed into the Sentinel line.
It was carnage.
The Sentinels swung their hydraulic clubs. CRUNCH. Bones shattered. Men were launched ten feet into the air.
But for every man that died, three more climbed over the shields.
They were like ants attacking a beetle.
A gladiator jumped onto a Sentinel's back. He jammed an iron crowbar into the exposed steam hoses at the neck.
HISSSS.
Scalding steam sprayed out. The pilot inside screamed as his suit cooked him. The Sentinel toppled, crushing two more Romans beneath it.
"Kill the boilers!" Marcus shouted.
He dove under a swinging club. He rolled. He came up behind a Sentinel.
He jammed his Fire Lance into the intake vent on the suit's back.
He lit the fuse.
BANG.
The bamboo tube exploded. The boiler ruptured. The suit blew apart, raining hot brass and oil.
But the center held.
Three Sentinels stood firm in the archway of the gate. They had locked their shields together, creating an impenetrable wall.
Behind them, Palace guards fired crossbows through the gaps. The gladiators were piling up in a heap of dead bodies.
"Move!"
A voice like a landslide cut through the noise.
Narcissus.
The giant limped forward. He was covered in blood. His helmet was dented. He held a sledgehammer that looked like it belonged to a god.
"Clear the path!" Narcissus bellowed.
The gladiators scattered.
Narcissus didn't charge the shields. He charged the ground.
He raised the hammer. He screamed.
He brought it down on the asphalt in front of the Sentinels.
CRACK.
The pavement shattered. The shockwave buckled the ground.
The Sentinels stumbled. Their shield lock broke as they fought for balance.
Narcissus didn't wait. He stepped into the gap.
He swung the hammer sideways.
It hit the lead Sentinel in the chest plate.
CLANG.
The sound was deafening. The bronze breastplate caved in. The pilot inside was crushed. The massive suit flew backward, knocking the other two down like bowling pins.
"The gate is open!" Narcissus roared.
But the fallen Sentinel wasn't dead.
As Narcissus turned to wave the army forward, the suit's arm shot out.
A pneumatic spear extended from the wrist.
SHUNK.
It caught Narcissus in the side. It punched through his chainmail, through muscle, deep into his gut.
Narcissus froze. He looked down at the spear shaft sticking out of his body.
The gladiator army gasped. The Iron Dog had fallen.
Narcissus looked at the pilot struggling to stand.
He grabbed the spear shaft with both hands.
He didn't pull it out. He snapped it.
SNAP.
He left the head in his body. He raised his hammer.
"I said..." Narcissus growled, blood leaking from his grill. "...the gate is OPEN!"
He brought the hammer down on the pilot's helmet. The suit went still.
Narcissus dropped to one knee. He waved Marcus forward.
"Go, Caesar! Don't let me die for nothing!"
Marcus hesitated. The Ghost wanted to stop. Marcus wanted to save his friend.
But the Airship was turning for another run.
"Inside!" Marcus screamed, tears mixing with the soot on his face. "Everyone inside!"
They poured through the breach.
The Palace interior was a different world.
Outside was fire and noise. Inside was silence and cool air.
The marble floors were polished. The walls were lined with mirrors. The only sound was the low, rhythmic hum of servers hidden behind the panels.
"Where are the guards?" Galen whispered, clutching his medical bag.
Marcus looked at the Hall of Mirrors. Infinite reflections of his own bloody face stared back at him.
"Lucilla doesn't use guards," Marcus said. "She uses automation."
Click.
The PA system crackled.
"You broke my toys, Marcus," Lucilla's voice echoed from everywhere. She sounded bored. "Do you know how much a Sentinel unit costs? That's coming out of your inheritance."
"Show yourself!" Marcus yelled.
"Asset protection enabled," the voice said.
Panels in the ceiling slid open.
Metal turrets dropped down. They weren't high-tech lasers. They were Crank Guns—Gatling-style rotating barrels powered by steam.
"Cover!" Marcus tackled Galen.
They slid behind a marble pillar just as the guns spun up.
BRRT-BRRT-BRRT.
Bullets chipped the stone. The noise was deafening in the enclosed hall.
"They're tracking movement!" Marcus shouted over the gunfire. "Simple optical sensors!"
He looked at the wall. A polished silver shield hung as decoration.
He grabbed it.
"Stay low!"
Marcus threw the shield down the hall like a frisbee.
It spun, catching the light from the chandeliers.
The turrets swiveled, tracking the flash.
BRRT.
They fired at the shield.
"Run!"
Marcus and Galen sprinted while the guns were distracted. They slid across the polished floor, diving under the arc of fire.
They reached the far end of the hall.
The Throne Room doors.
They were massive. Steel. Vault-locked. An electronic keypad glowed red next to the handle.
"Hack it!" Marcus yelled, pulling Galen up.
Galen looked at the keypad. He tapped a few buttons.
BEEP-BEEP. ACCESS DENIED.
"I can't!" Galen cried. "It's encrypted! I need a code!"
"We don't have a code!" Marcus shouted.
Bullets chewed up the floor behind them. The turrets were re-targeting.
"We don't need the door," Marcus said. He looked at the marble wall next to the steel frame.
He pulled the last explosive charge from his belt. A bundle of dynamite stolen from the mine.
"Blow the frame!"
He slapped the charge against the marble. He lit the fuse.
"Fire in the hole!"
They dove behind a statue of Augustus.
BOOM.
The explosion shook the palace. Dust billowed out. The marble wall disintegrated.
The steel door, unanchored, fell forward with a heavy metallic groan.
Silence.
The turrets stopped firing. Their logic circuits reset.
Marcus stood up. He coughed, waving the dust away.
Through the hole in the wall, the Throne Room was revealed.
It wasn't a room. It was a data center.
Rows of server racks lined the walls, blinking with blue lights. Thick black cables snaked across the floor like vines in a jungle.
And in the center, sitting on the throne of Augustus, was Lucilla.
She held a tablet in her lap. She looked up.
She didn't look scared. She looked annoyed.
"You're late," she said.
Marcus stepped through the rubble. He drew his gladius.
"School's out, Lucy," Marcus rasped. "Time to go home."