The walk back to the holding cell was a quiet one. Flanked by the two guards and followed by Carson, hands still clutching his papers. They walked down the corridor, the distant roar of the crowd vanishing behind them. Leaving only the sound of feet scraping against stone. The guards returned Creed and Carson to the cell, slammed the door, and walked back down the corridor.
The holding cell was the same stone box as before, but it felt smaller now. The single light high above cast long shadows across the ground. Defeat was an almost physical thing, Creed could taste it. He sank into the rickety chair, the same one he'd been cuffed to before, and leaned his head back against the cold stone wall. Carson paced. Back and forth, back and forth, a four step journey from one wall to the other, his purple Phoenix uniform looking even more pathetic in the lifeless light. He was whispering to himself, papers still clutched tightly.
"Okay, okay we can… we can recenter," he whispered more to himself than Creed. His freckled face was covered with sweat. "He went for character. We pivot. We focus on the weapon. The nature of the weapon. We can argue you were… you were being compelled. Yes. Magically influenced." He stopped pacing and looked at Creed, his eyes behind his smudged glasses were wide and desperate.
Creed didn't bother to look at him. "Save it Carson," He said, his voice dull. "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, the self interest so obvious it was almost respectable how hard he was trying. "Marx knows that story about Emily is just a rumor, that's why he used it. There has to be a way to…"
Carson's rambling cut off mid sentence. He froze.
The air in the room changed, it didn't get colder, it got heavier. A deep pressure settled over them, a pressure so strong it felt like being at the bottom of the sea. Not that Creed knew what that felt like, but he'd heard rumors, and this matched them.
His breath hitched in his chest, the troll with the hammer behind his eye suddenly forgotten. He knew this feeling. It was the feeling of a bug moments before it gets crushed.
Carson made a soft, choking sound. His face went deathly pale, and his knees simply gave out. He collapsed on the stone floor, his papers scattering around him. He wasn't kneeling in reverence, he was pinned down by a force his body couldn't even begin to comprehend.
A figure stood in the now open doorway, a slender silhouette in the dim light of the corridor. The dark gold Archon robes seemed to drink the little light there was. 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 so much as glance at the crumpled Carson. His ancient eyes were fixed solely on Creed.
"Leave us," Valerius said. The voice was soft, smooth, but the order was absolute.
Carson didn't need to be told twice. He hurried to his feet, grabbing his scattered papers. His eyes were fixed on the floor, not daring to look at the Archon. He all but ran from the cell, his footsteps echoing down the corridor before fading out.
They were alone. Valerius glided further into the cell. He looked at Creed, eyes filled not with anger or contempt, but with curiosity.
"Why?" The single word wasn't loud, yet it cut through the silence like a shard of glass.
Because you represent everything wrong with this place, Creed's mind screamed. The heroic thought came easily, he'd fed himself it for weeks. The lies. The corruption. What they let happen to me. The words felt practiced, a shield he'd polished until it gleamed. But in the presence of the Archon, the shield cracked. The ugly truth made its way out from underneath.
No, that's not it. Not really. He finally admitted it to himself. I did it because I was supposed to be special. Because from the day I walked through those gates, I knew I was meant for more, and this place, you, him, her, all of them, told me I was nothing. I did it because they were wrong. I did it for me.
"They abandoned me," Creed finally whispered, the pathetic truth of that at least felt real. "The Spire, it let me…"
Valerius tilted his head, a small, sad smile forming on his face. It wasn't a kind smile. "And you believed that trinket would fix it?" He didn't wait for an answer. "That little bomb… it was never for me."
A cold feeling seeped into Creed's bones. Dread. He remembered the hall, the frozen fire of the Holy Weapon, the casual way Valerius had simply unmade it. The image replayed in his mind, over and over. HERO, with all their secrets and intelligence, couldn't have possibly underestimated an Archon so badly. They had to know the bomb was like a firecracker to a man like Valerius.
They sent him knowing he would fail.
The realization was like yet another kick. The goal was never to kill the Archon, it was to stage an attempt. A message, a performance designed to rock the Spire to its core and show that nowhere was safe. Creed was just a disposable body. His capture, this trial, and his inevitable guilty verdict, it was all planned by HERO. He wasn't a revolutionary, he was a prop in HERO's theater, and they had cast him aside the second his part was finished.
He was a fool.
A fresh wave of rage surged through him. He was furious at Valerius, furious at HERO, but most of all, he was furious at himself for being so blind. He was completely played.
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 before asking in a desperate tone"Then who does it belong to?"
The Archon crouched, bringing his unnervingly beautiful face level with Creed's. His terrifyingly intelligent eyes staring right into his own. "Those who submit. The dogs."
For a second after the statement Creed and Valerius remained still, Creed dumbfounded at the Archon's words and Valerius seemingly searching for something in Creed's eyes.
Then he stood up, smoothing a non existent wrinkle on his robes. He turned and glided toward the door, As he reached the threshold, he paused without looking back.
"Think on it," he said, his voice once again soft. "And remember this… a dog should always call on his master."
Then he was gone. The immense pressure in the room was lifted, and the distant sounds 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?