GLADIATOR | ELYSIUM RISING 1 ✔️

⍢ | 7

With his rod in hand, he stepped forward and listened to the instructions Tenn gave him.

#

"Have you killed before?" Iggy asked Tenn during dinner.

The man's darkened like a storm cloud looming over an unsuspecting village. His lips pressed into a flat line as he flexed his jaw. Iggy immediately regretted his question. Dropping his eyes to the table, he mentally cursed himself.

"Sorry," he began, "I shouldn't have asked."

"Yes."

He lifted a brow.

"I've killed before."

Iggy remained silent for a few moments, choosing to nibble on the piece of bread that had been sitting on the edge of his tray. After a while, he glanced at the man sitting across from him.

"How many people?"

Tenn paused as if he were counting the deaths in his head. Iggy was afraid of the answer.

"Too many."

The man was a soldier after all. It came with the territory.

Another question pricked at Iggy's mind. He didn't want to ask it; things were already tense as it was. But he knew he'd drive himself crazy if he didn't. Tenn likely already found him annoying. Scratch that. He knew the old man did. What would one more probing question do?

"What did it feel like?"

Tenn squinted at him. The boy couldn't tell what he was thinking behind those cold eyes of his. Most of the time he couldn't decipher what hid beyond them. This was one of those times.

"Why do you ask, boy?"

"I'm going to have to kill someone in that arena, aren't I."

Tenn hesitated. Then he nodded. He took a sip from the metal tin of water resting near his clenched fist.

"Arigoriis are pacifists," Iggy said, his voice so low that he was mostly talking to himself. "I've never even hurt someone before. Well, there was that one time I stepped on Squok's foot, but that was an accident."

He didn't know much about his people, just bits and pieces he got from his parents and old encyclopedias he could find, but he did know they weren't warriors. They weren't killers either. Arigoriis didn't even eat the flesh of other beings; they opted for the fruits and vegetables that grew across Yensari.

Iggy dreamed of his homeworld often. If he made it out of this alive, that was the first place he was going after he returned to his mother. They had been away for too long. Home was calling them. It was always calling.

"Taking a life changes you," Tenn revealed. He kept his eyes trained on his tray of food, untouched, likely to remain that way. "It corrupts your soul. Clouds your mind. But sometimes...it's necessary."

"Do you regret it? Killing people, I mean."

"In short, no."

"What does that mean?"

"There are some people I regret killing. There are others who I'd kill again, no questions asked, given the chance."

Iggy nodded solemnly.

"When you step foot in that arena, Iggorii," Tenn began, "you'll have to make a decision. When an opponent is rushing toward you with the intention of taking your life, you'll be forced to act. Or else you'll be destroyed. You cannot hesitate. You cannot show mercy."

He weighed the man's words, testing them for validity.

Was that truly the only way he could win? By ending someone else's life?

Before, he'd told himself he'd do whatever it took to return to his mother. But the more he thought about it, the harder it got to imagine himself ending another living being's time in this world. Like Tenn told him earlier, everyone had their own sob story, their own reasons for being on the Chyron. They all were fighting for something—or even someone.

Who was he to place his own needs above theirs?

The fluttering black and gold flag of the Elysian Empire filled his head.

That was when he realized something. The empire didn't care; for millennia, Elysians had been placing their wants over the needs of their subjects. The arena and the games were constructed purely for their entertainment. They didn't care about him or his mother. They didn't care about the millions of Hands and Slavs across the galaxy struggling to feed themselves.

All they cared about was themselves.

Iggy's hands curled into fists. His eyes flickered over to Tenn's neck tattoo.

"Why do you have that?"

Tenn kept his eyes down.

"You're a rebel," Iggy pressed. "That's why you were arrested." But that conclusion only spawned more questions. Any involvement in any kind of insurgency was punishable by death. Iggy had only escaped that fate because Commander au Victorus happened to believe he wasn't actually a rebel.

How had Tenn avoided execution?

"Are you done interrogating me, boy?"

"Not even close."

"Well, I'm done answering questions." Tenn rose from the table, abandoning his dinner. "We'll meet again in the east corridor tomorrow morning. Don't be late."

Before Iggy could argue, the old man wove through the crowd of prisoners milling about the cafeteria. He disappeared into the sea of navy blue. The boy groaned before taking another bite out of his stale bread.

Next to him, a rather scaly-looking gentleman pointed meekly at Tenn's untouched food. Their wet tongue poked out from their beak of a mouth. "You gonna eat that?"

"Have at it."

They devoured the meal in seconds.

Iggy shuddered. He couldn't wait to get off this ship.