GLADIATOR | ELYSIUM RISING 1 ✔️

⍢ | 27

Iggy woke up to his head pounding. Grimacing, he brought his fingers to the back of his skull. A large welt sat just above the nape of his neck where the soldier's gun hit him. It hid under his shaggy, black hair and furrowed its way under his skin, growing with blood with every breath he took. The pain rippling through his head made him want to vomit.

He groaned and looked around.

The crowd was gone. So were Moxi Daystar, Tenn, and the other tributes. He no longer was in the pit of the arena, surrounded by thousands of people who wanted to rip his head off for his words against the empire. He sat on cold concrete, only accompanied by his thoughts and the dull aches his body harbored.

He glanced at his leg. The wound stopped bleeding, as the material of his pants had been glued to his skin with dried blood. Gritting his teeth, he used the wall beside him to help himself up. Through the darkness around him, he realized he'd been thrown in a bland, metal box with a glass face. Outside, he spotted nothing but identical units. Other people lurked inside. Most had their hands and mouths bound with electronic devices.

Iggy's eyes widened.

They were holding cells.

He was in a holding cell.

Ignoring his throbbing leg and head, he hobbled over to the glass barrier. He pressed his hands to the cool surface. How long had he been here? Was Tenn somewhere nearby? Were they even in the arena anymore? A million other questions raced around his mind. His breathing picked up speed. He was barely taking in any oxygen. Eyes bulging, he backed away from the front of the cell until his back hit the other wall. He slid back down to the ground and buried his face between his knees. Twisting his fingers into his disheveled hair, he cursed himself.

What was I thinking?!

The consequences of his spontaneous speech before the entire Elysian Empire and whoever else might've been watching never dawned on him in the moment. All that mattered to him while he'd been speaking was getting his message out.

But what even was his message? What had he been hoping to accomplish? All he did was express a sentiment billions of others whispered in the shadows when the empire's eyes weren't on them. The emperor himself knew how his subjects felt about him.

His words likely had zero effect. Now, here he was, trapped in a box.

A sharp burst of pressurized air followed by mechanical whirring made Iggy snap his head upward. Four guards, their faces guarded by their shiny black visors, stood in front of his cell as the glass panel disengaged from its position. It retracted on either side until a doorway-sized opening was formed.

Iggy slowly got to his feet.

Wordlessly, a guard surged forward. They grabbed him by the scruff of his bloodied uniform and yanked him out of the cell. He didn't bother asking them any questions as they shepherded him out of the room holding the cells. He simply hung his head and focused on his breathing.

Upon stepping into a bright hallway, Iggy realized they were still somewhere in the stadium. A curved window bent around them as they navigated the hall. The stands and arena stared back at him through the spotless glass. Light from Neon City's towering buildings reflected off the metal throughout the arena. The stands were empty now. Replays from the games and advertisements played on the jumbotron in the sky.

Iggy's own face crossed one of the screens for a few seconds before being replaced by an advert for a new device developed by Ædard from House Au Taela. Iggy scowled at the man who once tried to sponsor him.

"Keep it moving," a guard barked. The muzzle of their rifle pressed into his spine. He clenched his jaw and soldiered on.

After traveling down multiple corridors, riding two sets of elevators, and walking up one set of stairs, Iggy and his four-man escort arrived before a set of double doors. They stretched nearly two stories above him and were painted black, a sharp contrast from the white of the hallway's walls.