The walk back to the holding cell was a quiet one.
Flanked by the two guards and followed by Carson, who was still clutching his papers, they walked down the corridor. The roar of the crowd dying out behind them, leaving only the sound of feet against stone.
The guards returned Creed and Carson to the cell, slammed the door, and walked away.
The holding cell was the same stone as before, but it felt smaller now. Defeat was upon them Creed could taste it. He sank into the chair, the one he'd been cuffed to, and leaned his head back against the stone wall.
Carson paced. Back and forth, a four-step journey from one wall to the other. He was whispering to himself. His freckled face was covered with sweat as he spoke more to himself than to Creed
"Okay, okay… we can recenter. He went for character. We pivot. We focus on the weapon. We can argue you were… you were being compelled. Yes. Magically influenced."
He stopped his pacing and looked at Creed, his eyes wide and desperate behind his glasses.
Creed didn't bother to look at him. His voice was dull as he replied
"Save it, Carson. This is going exactly as they planned."
"No! I told you if we lose I'm out! This isn't just about you, it's my entire future!" The kid's voice cracked. "Marx knows that story about Emily is a popular rumor, that's why he used it. There has to be a way to…"
Carson's shouting cut off mid-sentence. He froze.
The air in the room changed. It suddenly got heavier. A deep pressure settled over them, so strong it felt like being at the bottom of the sea.
Creed's breath hitched in his chest. He knew this feeling. It was the feeling of a bug moments before it gets crushed. The same feeling he had felt in the Grand Hall.
Carson's face went deathly pale, and his knees gave out. He collapsed to the ground, his papers scattering around him. He was pinned down by a force he couldn't begin to comprehend.
A figure stood in the now open doorway. A slender silhouette dressed in dark gold robes that seemed to drink the light, the silver embroidery giving off a small gleam. His luminous white hair was the only bright thing in the room.
Archon Valerius stepped inside.
The crushing weight intensified, focused entirely on them. He didn't glance at the crumpled Carson. His ancient eyes were fixed solely on Creed.
Valerius's voice was soft, smooth, but the order was absolute:
"Leave us."
Carson didn't need to be told twice. He hurried to his feet, grabbing his papers, and all but ran from the cell. His footsteps echoed down the corridor before fading.
They were alone.
Valerius glided further into the cell. His eyes holding a hint of curiosity. A single word cut through the silence.
"Why?"
'Because you represent everything wrong with this place, Creed's mind screamed. The lies. The corruption. What they let happen to me. The heroic thought came easily, but in the Archon's presence, the shield cracked. The ugly truth crawled out, 'No, that's not it. I did it because I was supposed to be special. Because I knew I was meant for more, and this place, all of you, told me I was nothing. I did it because they were wrong. I did it for me.'
He finally whispered, the pathetic truth at least feeling real.
"They abandoned me. The Spire, it let me…"
His voice faded.
A small, sad smile formed on Valerius's face.
"And you believed that trinket would fix it?" He didn't wait for an answer. "That little bomb… it was never for me."
Dread seeped into Creed's bones. The casual way Valerius had unmade the explosion replayed in his mind. HERO, with all their secrets, couldn't have underestimated an Archon so badly.
'They sent me knowing I would fail.'
The realization was like another kick. The goal was never to kill the Archon, it was to stage a performance, and Creed was just a disposable prop. His capture, this trial, his inevitable guilty verdict… all of it was planned by HERO.
He was a fool.
A fresh wave of rage surged through him, at Valerius, at HERO, but most of all, at himself for being so blind.
Valerius watched the emotions play across Creed's face, his own expression unreadable.
"Now you see, Creed. Survival doesn't belong to the strong or the righteous."
Creed stared at him for a moment. His tone was desperate as he asked:
"Then who does it belong to?"
The Archon crouched, bringing his unnervingly beautiful face level with Creed's. His terrifyingly intelligent eyes stared right into his own. "Those who submit. The dogs."
For a second, they remained still, Creed dumbfounded at the Archon's words as Valerius seemed to search for something in his eyes.
Then he stood up, smoothing a wrinkle on his robes. He turned and glided toward the door. As he reached it, he paused without looking back. His voice was once again soft.
"Think on it. And remember this… a dog should always call on his master."
Then he was gone. The immense pressure lifted, and the distant humming of the colosseum filtered back in.
Creed was left alone, the Archon's words ringing in his ears.
'Those who submit? A dog? What type of joke was that?'