know
you existed at all.
The world will know that free men
stood against a tyrrant.
That few stood against many.
And before this battle was over,
that even a God King can bleed.
You fought well today.
For a woman.As did you.
Maybe you've been injured,
you weren't able to keep up with me.
Perhaps I was so far ahead,
you couldn't see me.
Or were you offering
your backside to the Thespians.
Jealousy...
... is not becoming my friend.
Move it, men !
Pile those Persians high.
For unless I miss my guess...
... we're in for one wild night.
They have served the dark will
of Persian kings for 500 years.
Eyes as dark as night.
Teeth filed to fangs.
Soulless.
The personal guard
to king Xerses himself.
The Persian warrior elite.
The deadliest fighting
force in all of Asia.
The Immortals.
The God King has betrayed
a fatal flaw.
Hybris (aka Hubris).
Easy to taunt.
Easy to trick.
Before wounds and weariness
have taken their toll,
the mad king throws
the best he has at us.
Xerxes has taken the bait.
Spartans, push !
Immortals.
They put their name
to the test.
Father !
My king !
Arcadians, now !!
Go !
Let's show the Spartans
what we can do.
Go !
They shout and curse,
stabbing wildly,
more brawlers
than warriors.
They make a wondrous
mess of things.
Brave amateurs.
They do their part.
Immortals.
They failed our kings' test.
And a man who fancies
himself a god...
... feels a very human chill
crawl up his spine.
For our king !
And our honored dead !
Whom will Xerxes dare
to send next ?
There's nothing
that can stop us now.
Even the king allows himself
to hope for more than glory.
Such mad hope.
But there it is.
Against Asian endless hordes,
against all odds,
we can do it,
we can hold the Hot Gates.
We can win.
Dawn.
Whips crack.
Barbarians howl.
Those behind cry: "Forward" !
Those in front cry:
"Back".
Our eyes bear witness
to the grotesque spectacle
called forth from the darkest
corners of Xerxes' Empire.
When muscles failed,
they turned to their magic.
One hundred nations
descend upon us.
The armies of all Asia.
Funneled into this narrow corridor,
their numbers count
for nothing.
They fall by the hundreds.
We send the severed bodies
and the fragile hearts
back to Xerxes' feet.
King Xerxes is displeased
with his generals.
He disciplines them.
Xerxes dispatches his monsters
from half a world away.
They're clumsy beasts.
And the pile of Persian dead
is slippery.
- You still here ?
- Someone is got to watch your back.
Well, now, I'm a little busy.
Regroup !
Astinos, my son !
Astinos !
No !!
The day wears on.
We lose few...
... but each felled is a friend
or dearest blood.
And upon seeing the headless
body of his own young son,
the captain breaks rank.
He goes wild, blood drunk.
Captain's cries of pain
at the loss of his son
are more frightening to the enemy
than the deepest battle drums.
It takes three men
to restrain him
and bring him back
to our own.
The day is ours.
No songs are sung.
Your gods were cruel
to shape you so, friend Ephialtes.
The Spartans, too,
were cruel to reject you.
But I am kind.
Everything you could
ever desire.
Every happiness you can imagine.
Every pleasure your fellow Greeks
and your false gods have denied you.
I will grant you.
For I am kind.
Embrace me as your king
and as your god.
Yes !
Lead my soldiers
to the hidden path
that empties behind
the cursed Spartans,
and your joys will be endless.
Yes, I want it all.
Wealth, women.
And one more thing.