Maximus was not a patient man. He knew that better than most seemed to assume. He had to be. It was expected of him. He was beat daily. He was meant to be a hero. And heroes don’t retaliate.

He was no hero.

He had been going downhill for so long. Watching his knight die. Refusing to help him. He dreamed about it still. Not nightmares. He enjoyed it. He felt guilty, for enjoying it. But not for doing it. He had savored the feeling of power. He was not patient, he knew that -- and with power, you could be as impatient as you wanted.

Now he stood, staring down at the person on the floor before him. He’d hit them. His closest friend. He didn’t mean to, really. They had tested his patience, and he was too powerful to put up with that now. A part of him wanted to feel bad. But….

He enjoyed it.