The silence Valerius left behind was worse than the pressure. It felt like the air had been sucked out of the room, leaving a vacuum which almost suffocated Creed.
A dog.
The words hung in the seemingly airless room even after the Archon's departure. What did it mean? Was it a threat? An offer? A test? His mind raced, contemplating the words to no avail.
The hurried scuffing of leather on stone announced his lawyer's return.
Carson practically fell back into the cell, his face the color of chalk. He looked around the empty room, then at creed, his eyes were wide and terrified behind his smudged glasses. The crumpled papers still pressed to his chest like a Holy Weapon to ward off evil spirits.
"Thank Verdia," he whispered, his voice thin and reedy. He sat up and leaned against the doorframe. "He was like…" his expression changed, his eyes growing sharper. "What did he say? Creed, what did he want? His lawyer's fear was quickly being eaten up by desperate curiosity. He pushed himself upright and rushed over to Creed's chair, his movements jerky. "Did he threaten you? Did he offer a deal? Anything, anything at all we can use? It's highly unlikely for the victim to–"
"He said nothing," Creed cut him off, his voice dull. He kept his eyes on the now open cell door. Sharing Valerius's words felt like a sin. They were words he didn't understand but knew were deeply dangerous. They were only meant for him.
"Nothing?" Carson squeaked, his voice cracking. "Creed, Archons don't just visit their would be assassins for a nice chat. This is my life on the line here too, you know! My whole future! If he said something you have to tell me!"
Creed finally turned his head. The look in his eyes was cold and flat, a look that stopped Carson's desperate pleading right then and there. "Then maybe you should start worrying more about your own neck, The conversation's over."
Carson's mouth remained open for a second before slowly closing. Defeat settled over his freckled face like a hood. He turned from creed and began examining his papers again. A failed attempt to hide his emotions from the client he was supposed to be saving. They could both feel their respective dooms approaching. One worse than the other, but both equally dreaded.
The heavy thud of guard boots echoed down the corridor. Their stony faces appeared in the doorway, and a curt nod at Carson told them it was time.
…
The roar of the crowd hit them again as they re-entered the colosseum, you'd think they were here for a deathmatch. Though like a deathmatch, someone would be meeting their end after this case. Unfortunately for Creed, it would be him.
Creed slid back into his seat at the defendant's table. Carson sank down beside him, fumbling with his now sweat covered papers. Across from them, Marx offered a knowing smile, he looked like a man who'd already won and was just enjoying the show.
The judge made his way up to his podium, his age showing in the time it took him to get up there. He slammed his gavel, the sound cracking through the air and silencing the crowd. "Court is resumed," he sighed. "Prosecutor Marx, proceed."
"Thank you, your honor," Marx began, rising from his seat and walking towards the center of the marble floor. "The defense is painting a picture of a misguided boy. I wish to show all of you, the court, the audience, and our esteemed guests, the true face of the accused. The prosecution would like to call Elian Vost to the stand."
Elian. Creed could see where this was going.
Elian appeared from a small, dark doorway on the far side of the colosseum floor. He looked even smaller and more pathetic in the grand arena. His grey Kiron uniform hung loose on his thin frame, his Adam's apple bobbing nervously in a neck that looked like he'd been starved his whole life. He kept his head down, his dark black hair covering his forehead and his nose twitching with every step. His brown eyes were darting around the arena, everywhere but at Creed. His skin looked greasy, like he'd been dipped in cooking oil. He was the rat who'd tripped over his own feet to abandon the room they had once shared.
After swearing his oath to Verdia, Elian sat. Marx approached his stand calmly. "Mr. Vost, you were Creed's roommate for over a year. Tell the court, what was he like?
"He was… angry," Elian began, his voice barely audible. "Always quiet, but you could feel something off about him. He would always talk about how corrupt the Spire was. How he would change things, how he would show them."
The lies were slick with more oil than Elian's skin, designed to slide into the ears of the willing. Sure, Creed had been bitter, but he'd kept it locked down, buried deep. He never brought up his situation to Elian, things hadn't gotten to a breaking point until after the rumors spread, and Elian was long gone when that happened.
"Did he have a violent temper?" Marx questioned.
"He… he had a temper," Elian answered, gaining a bit of false confidence in his words. "He would get this look in his eye. It scared me."
Marx didn't throw in another question, instead, he turned, a full 360 degrees while staring into the crowd. No words were needed, his message was clear as day.
They were portraying me as a danger to the Spire.
After he turned back to Elian he asked a question Creed had seen coming a mile away.
"And what about the incident concerning Emily Lancer?"
Elian swallowed hard. "After the incident, I… heard him laughing about it one night. Said she was a naive fool who got what was coming to her. He scared me after that… I requested a transfer the next day. I was afraid to sleep in the same room as him.
A collective gasp went through the crowd. Whispers of outrage and disgust. Creed felt Carson shift beside him, he felt his lawyer's gaze now on him. He didn't need to look to know what type of look it was, it was the same one Iris had given him when she first heard it too. A look of horrified doubt.
The lie was perfect. Told by the perfect, weak dog who was licking the boots of power to ensure his own survival.
Was this what Valerius meant?
"No further questions," Marx said, turning his back on Elian and giving the crowd a look that said, See? This is the monster I told you about.
The judge waved his hand dismissing Marx back to his table. "Defense? Any cross examination?"
Carson looked at Creed, his face filled with doubt. He was starting to believe them. "No, Your Honor."
Elian, now looking triumphant, hurried down from the stand and out the door he came in. Carson took a deep shaky breath and rose to his feet.
"Your honor, we would like to contend that the weapon itself was one of evil nature and compelled my client to act. I request that the weapon be brought for examination."
The judge grunted, looking intrigued for the first time. He gave a nod to a guard who walked through another door next to the judge's podium. Shortly after he emerged carrying a velvet cushion. He walked to the center of the arena and placed it gently on the evidence table. Resting in the middle of the cushion was a black sphere.
All eyes were on the sphere.
The crowd leaned forward, mesmerized.
The judge squinted at it.
Marx looked at it with detached amusement.
But Creed wasn't looking at them. He was staring at the object on the cushion. Creed's blood ran cold, he could feel the air leave his lungs.
It wasn't The Eye.