For the first—and only—time since arriving on Elysium Prime, Iggy couldn't wait to step into the arena.

The final game would begin in the next five minutes. The subdued chants of the crowd outside sounded lightyears away. He imagined the looks he'd get when he took that stage for the final time. He stared into the light emanating from the buzzing forcefield ahead, counting the down the seconds until it vanished.

This time, he stood alone. He, along with the other eight remaining tributes, was isolated from each other. The pit of the arena had been sectioned off into an octagon of sorts. Old maintenance tunnels had been converted into waiting rooms for the tributes as they prepared to take on the arena's last challenge. Each of them stood in their own narrow corridor, accompanied only by the lights built into the glass floor beneath their feet.

Only one of them would be crowned victor at the end of it all. Iggy had to make sure it was him.

Light glinted off the sword in his hand. His fingers tightened around the black wrapping around the hilt; his knuckles bulged against his skin from the force of his grip.

When Iggy first received the blade, he marveled at it for what felt like half an hour. Writing in Old Elysian—the native tongue of the Elysians—had been inscribed into the pitch-black metal. The message was lost on him. He'd been informed that the blade was crafted out of the remnants of a meteor that crashed on Olympium, another Elysian-owned paradise world. The material was darker than space itself. Golden accents ran along the hilt and pommel. Sleek yet grand. Primitive yet modern. Not to mention expensive. It likely cost more credits than he'd ever own.

Another gift from House au Castus—along with the black and gold armor he'd been given. 

Had he not needed them to survive this final challenge, he wouldn't have accepted them. But he was angry, not dumb. He gratefully took the gear with a large smile when they were handed to him by a blank-eyed android earlier that day.

Exhaling, he curled his fingers around the silicon straps of the chest plate protecting him. Lightweight pieces of metal painted bronze and black up and down his midsection, mapping out what he wished his pectorals and abs looked like. A small device had been attached to the nape of his neck. When pressed, his helmet would spawn in.

Goosebumps cascaded down his arms. A ball of anxiety and fear settled at the base of his throat. Swallowing hard, he did his best to shake the nervousness out of his trembling limbs.

This was it. His last test. The final obstacle between himself and freedom.

His mother and the green seas of Yensari were the only things on his mind. Nothing would prevent him from returning to them. After everything was said and done, he'd let Jaxon, Noia, and the Alliance pick up the pieces. His job would be done. They would thank him after it was. But he didn't require their applause.

All he needed was his family and home back.

He released his hold on the straps of his chest plate, letting his arms hang at his side. The forcefield ahead of him disengaged. Outside, the crowd's cheers shook the entire arena. He closed his eyes and soaked it all in.

One last time.

#

Once Moxi Daystar finished his closing ceremony for the Elysian Gladiator Games, the tributes were instructed to exit their tunnels. Iggy cautiously emerged into the fray with the others. Everyone exchanged glances with one another as they waited for the host to explain what the final challenge was.

But they knew what it would be.

Iggy saw it in their eyes. He knew it deep down in his heart.

The arena itself even told them. There were no more racetracks or mazes. There was just concrete.

The final challenge was a free-for-all. To the death. Moxi's announcement to the audience moments later only confirmed it. Surprised gasps rippled throughout the thousands who had gathered to watch the show. Iggy wasn't sure how it was possible, but he swore the stands were more packed than ever before. Fireworks launched into the sky, exploding in a flurry of colors before burning into nothingness.

It looked like a celebration.

There wasn't anything to celebrate. Not for him, or any of the tributes. Not for those currently suffering throughout the empire-owned systems either.

But the Elysians didn't care about that. They never did. 

Cupping a hand over his face to shield his eyes from the blazing sun, he peered at the jumbotron in the sky. All four screens showcased the host of the games in yet another ridiculous outfit. This time, it was a canary yellow get-up that seemed to be a cross between a suit and a dress. The man stood in his commentary booth alongside his partner with a massive smile on his face.

Iggy sneered at the tiny man.

"Citizens of the empire! Thank you, thank you!" His voice boomed throughout the stadium. His expression darkened as he cleared his throat. The sounds of the audience gradually lessened until an eerie hush settled over the arena. "Today marks the end of what can only be described as the most exciting edition of the Elysian Gladiator Games." A chorus of disappointment rang out from the crowd. Moxi urged them to quiet back down. "I know, I know. But don't fret—we have a wonderful show planned for you today. It's the epic finale. You thought you were impressed before? Just wait. You haven't seen anything yet."

Moxi couldn't have known about the plan to kidnap the emperor, but his dramatic nature lent itself to the moment. Iggy couldn't have written his script better even if he tried. He nearly laughed at the irony.

But he couldn't laugh. He couldn't even bring himself to smile.

"But before the final game commences," Moxi continued, "a word from our gracious emperor." He stepped aside with a flourish. Seconds later, the jumbotron's screens switched to a feed of Voltai in his private skybox overlooking the arena.

Iggy's lip twitched. The inside of the room had been etched into his brain, forever haunting his memory.

The emperor rose from his golden chair to cheers and whistles from the crowd. Smiling, he nodded slowly. "Today is a sad, yet triumphant, day. As Mr. Daystar said, this has been the most successful version of the Elysian Gladiator Games yet. And we couldn't have done it without you all. While we may be saying goodbye to these last eight champions who we've all come to know and love, don't fret. The arena won't stay empty for long."

A scowl twisted Iggy's lips.

"Today, the remaining champions fight for the highest glory. The ultimate crown. Before the arena, they were nobody. Faceless and nameless. But through the spectacle of the arena, they've become warriors—and icons."

The emperor might've been looking into a camera, but Iggy could feel his intense glare on him, boring into his skin and worming its way into his body. Gritting his teeth, he shifted his feet and averted his eyes from the screens above.

"Our empire is one of opportunity and fairness. Others may try to tell you differently. They speak of our supposed cruelty. They are traitors and should be treated as such." Voltai clasped his hands over his midsection. He opened his mouth to add something but stopped himself. A tight smile settled on his lips. "Remain faithful to the empire and the empire will remain faithful to you. Enjoy the game. Thank you."

His face disappeared from the screen. The Elysian Empire's symbol rotated on the black screen for a few quiet moments. They didn't last long. Moxi's vibrant face reappeared seconds later.

"Thank you, emperor!" Moxi cleared his throat while gesturing flamboyantly toward the crowd. "Citizens of the empire, prepare yourselves for the battle of a lifetime!"

In the center of the arena, the familiar holographic countdown sequence materialized above the cold, hard ground. As he watched the numbers tick down, Iggy couldn't get the emperor's words out of his head. He might not have said the Arigorii's name, but his words were tailored specifically for him. They fit him snugly like a perfectly sized winter coat.

The empire had called him a traitor.

Iggy wasn't the traitor.

It was them—the Elysians. The empire. They were the real traitors. Traitors to the galaxy. Traitors to every system, planet, and lifeform they ruled over.

He glared down at the symbol pressed into the center of his chest plate. House au Castus' crest. The mere sight of it made his blood boil. How could he wear their symbol? After everything they, and the other Noblus families, had done?

The idea began as a tiny spark in the darkness of his mind. It grew and grew, eventually roaring to life like wildfire. He glanced down at his sword. With his jaw clenched, he brought it to his chest. Pressing the tip of his blade into his chest plate, he dragged it across the House au Castus' logo. Harsh scraping pierced his eardrums. A jagged scratch marred the polished metal, obscuring the insignia.

Behind him, the crowd let out a collective gasp. All eyes were on him. It wouldn't have been the first time. He couldn't see Voltai's face, but he knew he was watching too. The emperor always was. And he couldn't have been happy. But Iggy was. A grin stretched across his lips.

The other tributes stared at him with an array of different expressions. There was surprise, confusion, and respect. He ignored them all. He didn't need them.

All he needed was himself.

The countdown hit zero.

#

Even from beyond the grave, Tenn still managed to save Iggy's life.

He wasn't even sure if the man received a proper Andradan burial after he was executed. The chances of that happening were slim. He couldn't think about that now, though. A spear crackling with energy had been thrust at him.

Sidestepping the attack, he batted down the long-ranged weapon with the flat part of his sword. He moved into his adversary's blind spot. While the challenge was to the death, his aim wasn't to kill anyone. The other tributes weren't his enemy. He knew who the real enemy was.

Grunting, he drove his sword's hilt into the skull of the tribute beside him. Not enough to kill, but enough to incapacitate. They crumpled to the ground in a heap. One down. Six left.

Across the arena, he spotted an axe erupt through another tribute's midsection. Blood splattered across the arena floor. The wielder of the axe—Krav—freed his weapon from the bleeding tribute and grinned maniacally.

Scratch that. Five left.

He'd have to keep an eye out for Krav. The other tributes were reluctant to swing their weapons. Not him. He wanted blood. He wanted victory.

So did Iggy. Soon, they'd see who wanted it more.

Krav was the biggest threat to the plan now. Gripping his blade with the force of a Targen's jaw, Iggy sprinted to a different corner of the arena to think without worrying about getting his head chopped off. The crowd roared as two other tributes hacked away at each other with their weapons. They exchanged blows until they simultaneously delivered a fatal strike. They hit the ground at the same time, eyes frozen, faces pointed at the blue sky.

Three left.

Thunderous footsteps sounded behind him. He jerked to the side as if struck by lightning. Jaromik barreled past him with a massive war hammer raised high above his head. Blood that likely didn't belong to him stained his blue fur. His huge, hairy nostrils flared as he frantically whipped his head around.

Iggy groaned. Just his luck.

It wasn't a surprise both Krav and Jaromik survived this long. Had their leader Vonn not died in the first round, he likely would've been here as well. Then Iggy's chances of winning really would've been zero. At the moment, with the big blue warrior staring him down, they were a little higher than that. Barely.

Jaromik belted out a battle cry that echoed across the entire battlefield. The sound rattled Iggy's bones and shook the chest plate hanging slightly off his slender shoulders. His heart fell into his stomach.

His adversary charged. He swung his hammer, nearly taking the young Arigorii's head with it. It nearly took Iggy's head off. Heart thumping, he thrust his sword forward. Jaromik grabbed it by the blade with his bare hand. Blood spilled through his fingers. It coated the black metal, thick and dark like oil. Jaromik grimaced but kept hold. Iggy winced just from the amount of blood pouring from his meaty palms. Before he could wrench his sword free, Jaromik yanked it free from the boy's hand. He tossed it aside as if it were little more than a toothpick.

Iggy threw a desperate glance at his fallen weapon. Jaromik stood between him and the blade. There was no way he could get it to while also keeping his life. Gulping, he blanched as the blue-furred warrior stared him down. Laughing, Jaromik lifted his war hammer once again.

The boy staggered backward. His brain stalled as he failed to think of a way out. There wasn't anywhere to run. Nowhere to hide.

Jaromik stepped forward. Then he stopped, all seven feet of him stiffening as if he'd been petrified. The hammer fell to the ground with a deafening thud. An axe had been scythed into the side of his neck. Sputtering, he pressed his hands to his draining throat. More blood trickled through the gaps between his fingers. Fear filled his eyes.

Krav stood behind him with a maniacal grin on his face. Jaromik dropped to his knees as the color fled his skin. With a laugh, the [creature name]*'s ex-ally knocked him to his side. He placed his boot on his head before wrenching the axe from his throat. He shook the blood from the curved blade before pointing it at Iggy.

The Arigorii looked past him and at the still creature on the ground. He'd stopped moving. Dead. Beyond Krav, another fighter laid face down in a pool of their own blood. Multiple gashes ripped open the back of their uniform. Iggy's expression hardened like [substance] being exposed to oxygen.

Two more lives needlessly taken in the name of the empire.

He balled his hands into fists. His gaze returned to the axe-wielding gladiator before him.

It was just them now.

"No one expected you to survive this long. Was wondering if we'd ever get a rematch." Krav snarled. "The old man isn't here to save you this time."

"I don't need him to save me."

He did once. He'd nearly been beaten to death aboard the Chyron. Despite only being a few weeks ago, it felt like it happened to a different person. A whole lifetime had passed in the arena. He no longer needed Tenn—or any more for that matter—to save him. Not anymore.

Before he met the old man, he'd been a weak, pathetic salt miner from Novr. He hadn't even been living. He was a drone to the empire; nothing more than a number in a system that only served to better the Noblus families. He risked his life every day in those mines. And for what? A few credits so he and his mother wouldn't starve to death? That wasn't life—not one he wanted to live.

That wasn't him anymore. The arena changed him. It forced him to evolve. He was a fighter now. A survivor. A champion. He stood up to the empire twice now. No matter what happened after today, nothing could take that away from him. None of that would've been possible without Tenn.

He always knew the Andradan wouldn't be around forever. He'd have to stand alone one day. He stood alone now in the center of the arena with millions of eyes watching him. The emperor, Noia, Jaxon, his mother, and possibly his father—wherever he might've been. He knew Tenn was looking at him from wherever he ended up. They all were watching.

"You know, it took guts to do what you did after the maze."

"I know."

Iggy and Krav circled each other like sharks. A hush spread across the stadium like heavy fog as the audience waited in breathless anticipation.

"We don't have to do this," Iggy told him. He scanned the crowd for a moment. What he saw made his stomach curdle. All those people... They clamored for death—his or Krav's. Some might've even wanted to see them both fall. He shifted his gaze back to Krav. "Stand with me against them."

His opponent snorted. "What'll that accomplish? They already killed the old man for what you did. You want them to kill us next?"

"We don't have to follow their rules."

"You can be a revolutionary if you want to, kid. But I've gotta win these games."

Bloodlust filled Krav's eyes as he spun his axe. A sinking feeling settled in Iggy's chest. It wasn't just the Elysians that needed to be usurped. Their poison had seeped into the minds of billions throughout the galaxy. It tainted them to their cores. Krav couldn't be saved. He wasn't sure how many of them could be.

"It's a shame I've gotta kill you," Krav grumbled.

Exhaling quietly, Iggy took up the stance Tenn taught him. Knees bent, eyes narrowed, hands ready. His enemy laughed. Then he attacked.

Iggy's training kicked in. Bouncing on the balls of his feet, he danced around the man's wild strikes. Agitation warped Krav's face with every missed swing of his axe. Sweat slid down the side of his face. Growling, he lashed out with his free arm and caught Iggy in the face.

Wincing, he jumped back. His nose throbbed. A thin stream of blood trickled out the left nostril. He quickly wiped it away. Grinning, Krav advanced. His attacks got closer. One grazed Iggy's chest plate, adding a second scratch to the metal. Panting, Iggy darted away to catch his breath.

He held his sword with two hands. Krav sauntered toward him, his axe twirling around in his hand. The crowd chanted his name. The sound consumed Iggy; it reverberated in his bones and rattled around inside his chest.

"You had a good run, kid," Krav told him. "But it ends here." He launched his axe. It hurtled through the air like a missile from an Elysian gunship.

The world slowed around Iggy. Everything seemingly froze. The crowd's hands were suspended in the air. In front of him, Krav's outstretched arm seemed to not be moving at all. The axe hurtling toward him moved at a snail's pace. He felt every goosebump and every raised hair on his skin. Blood rushed in his ears. His heart pounded in his chest.

This was it.

His moment.

The world snapped back into focus. He threw himself down onto his back. The axe sailed over him and lodged itself in the wall of the arena. Jumping to his feet, he retrieved his sword from where Jaromik had thrown it. Before Krav could react, he rammed his shoulder into his chest. He hit the floor, wide-eyed and pale-faced. He gawked at Iggy from the ground.

Around them, the crowd switched chants. They were calling Iggy's name now.

He approached the tribute lying on the floor. Krav didn't bother getting up.

"Just do it." Turning his head, he squeezed his eyes shut and waited for death.

Iggy lifted his sword. The crowd's volume reached a crescendo. They urged him to deliver the final blow. To end the fight. He stared down at Krav. A certain message from a certain priestess replayed in his ears.

"Show them who you are."

He knew what she meant now.

The empire thought they could control him. They thought they could get him to play their game and follow their rules. They thought they could get him to kill for them. They were wrong. He was done playing their games and he was done playing by their rules.

He lowered his sword. Confused murmurs rippled through the audience like a stone disturbing a tranquil pond. It quickly morphed into discontent. They stopped chanting his name. They were yelling now. He ignored them.

Krav cracked an eye open as surprise erupted across his face. "Wha—"

"I'm not going to kill you," Iggy interrupted. He pointed to where Voltai's skybox watched over the entire stadium. "I'm going to kill him."

He left the man on the ground without a second thought. There was every chance in the world Krav could get up, retrieve his weapon, and kill him, securing his freedom and victory. But he wouldn't. Iggy didn't know how he knew, but he did.

His eyes were trained on Voltai's skybox. Scowling, he pointed his blade in the emperor's general direction. Moxi Daystar's voice crackled to life through the arena's speakers.

"Er, I'm not exactly sure what we're seeing here folks," the man remarked, his words littered with perplexed pauses. "But this certainly is a twist!"

"Emperor Voltai!" Iggy bellowed.

Confused murmurs moved through the stadium like a toxin from a gas canister thrown by an Elysian soldier. All eyes were on him now. For once, he was the main character. While he had their attention for what could've been the last time, he was going to do something worth more than the ticket price.

The emperor would die today.

Footsteps flooded into the pit of the arena. A dozen guards marched toward him with their blasters in hand and black visors covering their faces. Swallowing hard, he kept his grip on his sword.

"Drop it, traitor," their commander barked.

He considered the alternative. After seeing the glowing lights at the ends of their blaster rifles, he let his blade fall to the ground for the second time. Gritting his teeth, he reluctantly held his hands behind his head. Within seconds, a pair of tight handcuffs had been slapped onto his wrists. A guard grabbed him by the forearm and tugged him toward the arena's central tunnel.

He cast one last look at the emperor's skybox.

Then he glanced at the sky.

No sign of Jaxon Gunn. Blowing a few wet strands of hair out his face, he hung his head and trudged behind the Elysian guards shepherding him back into the arena's underworkings. Behind him, the crowd clamored with confusion. The Elysian Gladiator Games hadn't received a substantial conclusion, but one thing was certain.

The games were over.