Later, four soldiers dash up to Brutus, carrying a grievously wounded Cassius on a stretcher. Brutus asks Cassius what happened. "Not sure, to be honest," Cassius says through a mouthful of blood. "Hell of a birthday." Well, at least now he's caked with gore. Brutus tells him that the day's not over yet. Splendid news; it can only get better from here, right? A centurion tells Brutus that they have to fall back. Brutus looks around, to see a large number of his remaining men dropping their helmets and weapons and taking to their heels. Brutus tells Cassius they have to get going, but when he looks down, Cassius is already dead. At least his age was a nice round number. As the soldier tries to get Brutus to go already, Brutus embraces his dead friend. And when he looks up again, the horizon is black with what looks like an entire army coming to kill him personally. Brutus's men salute him, and he says that it's been an honor and a pleasure: "I am sorry we could not do better. But you must look to yourselves now. Save your skins." To the nearest soldier, he says, "Give my best to my mother." Who got him into this, ultimately, over a bad breakup, but whatever. "Tell her...tell her something suitable," Brutus finally Buffys.
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.