Heracles pulled hard on the handle, slowly the debris giving way as the weapon came up and out. The blade was covered in dark crimson, Sacrovir’s blood. Heracles knew the man lay charred and buried beneath the wreckage. As he gazed upon the sword, a fierce sense of determination welled up inside him. The Gauls were not his native people, yet it was Sacrovir who had liberated him. In that, a debt was owed to the man. Into the shadows would Heracles go; from thence he would rise again. He would see Sacrovir’s dream to fruition. He would raise another rebellion, stronger than before, and he would liberate Gaul!
“All in due time,” he said to himself in a sinister voice, his eyes burning with hate.