Brutus takes a dagger off the hip of another soldier, and then turns to face the approaching horde. He kisses his signet ring, which is on the opposite hand from before. He looks skyward, then begins walking to meet the approaching army, using his borrowed dagger to cut off his breastplate as he goes. Hurling dagger and armor aside (he throws armor like a girl, by the way), he draws his sword and stands facing his nine million opponents in his tunic, looking skinny and helpless and vulnerable and basically suicidal. The army halts before him. The remains of Brutus's officers make no move to flee the scene behind him, even though one of them is now shy a dagger. After a long moment, Brutus leaps into the opposing forces' midst. He gets bounced between a few shields and ends up on his ass, but quickly gets up and manages to slash one enemy soldier's leg beneath his shield. He gets another shield-edge in the gut, and then goes down again, spitting. When he stands again, a soldier stabs him in the back. Another pokes him in the gut. Brutus hangs on this man as yet another sword enters his upper back, and another and another. Finally he falls, and men surround him, stabbing him again and again, swarming over him like scorpions. Do scorpions swarm? Imagine them swarming, but with swords instead of stingers, and you'll get the idea.

Later, the victorious generals survey the battlefield from horseback. Antony says something about the smell of victory. "Smoke, shit, and rotting flesh," Octavian says. Antony loves it, of course, and would probably bottle it if he could. Agrippa comes along and reports that they've found Cassius's body, but that they're still looking for Brutus. Okay, that's just careless. Antony says that when they find him, they should have Brutus's head packed in salt for the trip back to Rome: "People appreciate the little touches, I find." By way of illustration, we see one of the scavengers crouch down, lift up a dead hand, and cut off the finger holding a familiar signet ring. The scavenger grins toothlessly at his find. See? The little touches.