"Honestly, a feeble attempt," said Lancer. "Perhaps one day my Rome might have conquered the East as well."
"Hnnrgghhh..." rasped Rider, heart pierced by Lancer's spear. She was whispering something, words almost audible above...
"Ha!" laughed Lancer. "Do you take me for a simpleton? Whispering something enigmatic to get me to lean in close and enter the range of your fangs?" She swung her spear in an arc, smashing Rider hard into the ground, fracturing the stone. "No, Rider. I know how to kill a snake."
"You... do," she admitted. "But I know... that nobody in this new world would have resisted leaning in close."
"Truly?" said Lancer. "Well, doesn't that speak poorly of this world?"
Rider laughed, but there was a mocking air to it. Julia's brow darkened.
"You think otherwise?" she said. "More fool you! What we witness here is simply another dark age. The centralized state of yesteryear has collapsed, and in its place has arisen a world of petty warlords, monarchists and the barbaric rule of the strong. Progress has stopped, civilization has regressed, and the people shiver beneath monuments they no longer possess the ability to build. I fought to prevent a world like this, fought for an eternal Rome which could direct the productive forces of humanity towards a truly magnificent end!" She raised her fist to the sky, blotting out the stars. "The Gods themselves would watch our works with awe!"
"Which... works would those be?" rasped Rider.
Julia snorted and flicked her hand imperiously over her shoulder. "Anything we set our mind to. Once we have the capability, all things would become possible."
"Sounds like heaven," said Rider laconically. "I can't wait to see it."
"My heaven," said Lancer, "is not for the likes of you."
And she drew forth her spear and struck off Rider's head.

*

Beneath the earth, ancient machinery boils to life.

It begins with the lights, blue and cold, sterile in a place that has long lost its sterility. The lights burn harshly against the leaves of the subterranean rainforest - first, burning their leaves back, and then choking as the leaves grow back tenfold. In the distance massive gears begin to turn, old machines begin to rumble, and dispatch begins routing service droids down the endless sprawling corridors of the Burrower civilization. Each task is observed and paid for, the invisible seams of money creaking and groaning to life as long-dead corporations trade in the night. Not one of them will resurrect their civilization for free.

But there is enough new power moving through the system to make them think that they will all get paid.