As punishment for inciting a riot, Iggy, Tenn, and the other tributes involved in the brawl in the training center were denied access to the cafeteria for the day. They'd be forced to participate in the night's challenge on empty stomachs. Iggy could've thought of worse punishments. He didn't think he'd be able to eat anything anyway.

Adrenaline still lingered in his veins. He couldn't stop wringing his hands and tapping his foot in an erratic rhythm. He'd never been in a fight before. The race a few days ago didn't count; people might've died, but he never fought anyone. Technically, he hadn't fought anyone in the training center either, but it was the closest he'd ever gotten to any real violence.

None of his sparring sessions with Tenn could've ever prepared him for that.

He never threw a single punch, but the experience lit a fuse inside him. His body tingled with nervous energy. The brawl only lasted a few minutes.

An entire combat-based game waited for him in the arena.

A piece of him dreaded it. Another, much smaller, piece, anticipated the experience. The challenge wouldn't start for another hour. That meant he had sixty minutes to stew in the millions of scenarios racing through his head. Shaking his head, he fell back onto his bed in the sleeping chambers and stared at the nondescript ceiling.

The keycard concealed in his shoe dug into his ankle as he moved. He pulled it out and tucked it underneath his cot.

While he might've lost out on dinner for the night, he won where he mattered. Jaxon's request had been fulfilled. He'd done his part. Now the man just had to pull through on his end.

The rebel didn't have all the power in this deal, though. Not quite. After Tenn questioned whether Jaxon could truly be trusted to hold up his end of the bargain, Iggy got to thinking of ways to make sure the trade went on without a hitch. People had been taking advantage of him all his life. Squok, Commander Au Victorus, Ivy Brightway, and countless others in the past. That ended here.

If Jaxon wanted decided to snake him, fine.

But it wouldn't be without consequences.

He knew things now—things that would ruin whatever plan Jaxon and the Axarian Alliance had brewing. He might not have had any real power behind the stadium walls, but he had leverage. And that's what he'd use to protect himself and his mother.

Leverage could only protect him so much.

Once he stepped into that arena, he'd need more than information to stay alive.

The intercom in the bright room crackled to life. A voice ordered all tributes to gather in the training center for the reveal of the second challenge. Iggy sat up and glanced at Tenn. The man had been sat on the ground near his bed with his legs crossed and hands placed gently on his knees. His eyes were closed, and his chest rose and fell in a slow, steady tempo.

His father used to do something similar.

"It's showtime, old man," Iggy said as he stood up.

He cracked one eye open. "Watch it, Iggorii."

"Sorry, sorry." He tilted his head at him. "What were you doing?"

Tenn rose to his feet and cracked his neck with his hands. Iggy cringed at the sound. "Meditation. A practice I wish I discovered much earlier in my life."

"How much earlier? Like two centuries ago?"

"You don't even know how old I am."

"I can't be too far off."

Snorting back a laugh, Tenn left the room. Iggy trailed behind him

#

Moxi Daystar wasn't present for the explanation of the night's game. Instead, one of the gamemakers took his place. They weren't given any information as to why their host was absent. No one asked, anyway. They were too focused on the holographic board displaying a diagram of the ever-changing layout of the arena.

The Skimmer track was gone, replaced by the more traditional view of the stadium's pit. The expansive concrete circle had been split into four quadrants, each marked with colored lines and barriers. The waterless moat separating the stands from the playing field returned, introducing a different threat for the tributes apart from each other.

The gamemaker stated they'd be participating in a more dangerous and violent version of capture the flag, a popular children's game throughout the galaxy. The remaining tributes would be split into four teams and were tasked with defending a single point while attacking the other three.

They'd be allowed a single weapon and shield each, along with simple armor plating. As per the gamemaker's own words, no one wanted to see a fighter die after getting hit once. The crowd wanted a show. They wanted drama.

Iggy wrung his hands throughout the entirety of the gamemaker's speech.

"Good luck, tributes," they said at the end of their spiel. "You're going to need it." They left, taking a set of guards with them. The remaining masked Elysians looked upon the tributes with blank stares hiding beyond their tinted visors.

No one said anything for a while.

That all changed after the holographic screen shifted from an image of the arena to a four-section chart of the teams involved. Everyone converged on it, clambering to get to the front to see what squad they landed on. Iggy found himself in the sea of desperate gladiators, trying his best to see over the taller bodies around him. He eventually broke through two people, emerging into the front.

His body trembled as he scoured the screen for his name, along with Tenn's.

They weren't on the first team. Nor the second. When his eyes reached the third list, he felt his heart jump into his mouth. He went from name to name until he got to the end. Relief hit him like a punch in the gut, which made him release the breath he didn't realize he'd been holding.

His name wasn't on the list. Neither was Tenn's.

That meant they both were on Team Four.

He glanced at the old man over his shoulder and gave him a thumb's up. Tenn replied with a small smile.

Once everyone learned what team they were on, the guards sorted them into their groups and led them to different locker rooms throughout the arena. Iggy noticed they'd entered a part of the stadium he hadn't seen before. The sandpaper-colored walls gave way to pristine corridors doused in white light. The Elysians pushed through a set of double doors and led Team Four inside.

Crates of armor and racks of weapons stood in the middle of the room. Their color was green, much to Iggy's delight. He retrieved the smallest set of armor plates available and put them on. The others went straight for the weapons. Swords, spears, tridents, and even spiked maces. Thin, glowing beams of emerald energy ran along the blades.

He'd seen energy weapons a few times. Normal citizens of the empire were outlawed from owning them, but even the Elysians couldn't eradicate the web of black markets that operated in the shadows of their great empire.

Iggy frowned at the lightweight armor covering his body. He couldn't be so sure they'd protect him against the blades burning with light.

In about ten minutes, he'd see just how well his armor would hold up.

Once his teammates picked their desired weapons, Iggy and Tenn approached the rack to take their pick of what was left. Tenn settled on a standard sword. He tested its weight in both hands before letting out a dissatisfied grunt.

"This'll do."

Iggy chewed on his bottom lip as he struggled to decide. In the training center, they'd been practicing with staffs. There weren't any of those here. Spears were shaped the same, but they required a different skillset from the one he'd been honing. The spiked mace was out of the question. All the swords remaining were nearly taller than he was, and the blades were thicker than his arms.

Toward the bottom of the rack, he spotted a dagger. It wasn't anything special—a standard rubber handle and an eight-inch blade with a thin beam of energy running along the surface.

No one else even glanced at it when making their selections.

But when Iggy laid his eyes upon it, he saw himself. Or perhaps that was just him looking at his reflection in the silver. It wasn't the strongest weapon or the most intimidating, but that's exactly why it spoke to him.

He wrapped his fingers around the hilt and removed it from the hooks holding it up. To his surprise, the weight felt perfect in his palm. Not too heavy, but not too light either. He flipped it in his hands a few times, even taking a few practice swipes. Out of the corner of his eye, he spotted Tenn smiling at him.

"What?" he asked.

"Nothing." He gestured at the small blade. "It suits you."

"Are you making fun of me?"

"Not at all."

Iggy peered at him speculatively before deciding to take note of the rest of his teammates. He didn't know any of them. The screen in the training center might've given him their names, but he'd never spoken a word to a single one. They were strangers, and strangers couldn't be trusted.

But for the night, they were a team. If they wanted to win, they all needed to be on the same page.

He turned to Tenn. "We need a game plan. Any ideas?"

"What're you looking at me for?"

"Uh, hello? Didn't you tell me you were an ex-general?"

"Captain," he corrected. "And I'm retired."

Iggy scowled. "Stop messing around. We need a strategy."

Tenn looked around the room. The other tributes seemed like they wanted nothing to do with each other. They occupied different spots in the locker room, adjusting the straps on their armor and swinging their new weapons around. A timer above the tunnel that led into the arena indicated they had five minutes until the game started.

Iggy squeezed his hands.

There were eight people on a team, meaning they had twenty-four other fighters to worry about. If they wanted to keep their flag safe from the other squads, they needed at least two people to hang back and play defense.

He closed his eyes, manifesting the image of the arena's layout in his head.

Their team needed to be split up into two parties­—defenders and attackers.

Tenn wagged a finger at him. "You've got an idea, don't you?"

He see-sawed his hand. "Something like that." Turning on his heel, he faced his other teammates. Then he cleared his throat. Not even one heard him. Or perhaps they simply ignored him. Knitting his brows together, he cleared his throat again. Same result.

Chuckling, Tenn patted his shoulder. "You're not quite there yet." Sword in hand, the Andradan stepped forward. "Everyone on me!"

The other tributes jumped at the sudden noise. They reluctantly shuffled toward the old man, their faces twisted in confusion and annoyance.

"What?" one of them asked.

Tenn pointed the tip of his blade at Iggy's chest. "The kid has a plan to help us win. You're going to listen to him."

"Listen to...him?" another person asked with a laugh.

Iggy crossed his arms. "Yes," he said sharply. "Me."

The humor left his teammate's face. They straightened up and motioned for him to continue.

Iggy thanked Tenn with a curt nod. He glanced at every other face in the room; their anxiety and terror bled through their faces and jittery movements. The last challenge had been a breeze compared to what laid ahead. Apprehension bubbled within him like the stew his mother used to cook for dinner. Tenn told the team he had a plan, but he didn't. Not really. It was more of a loose strategy. Still, it was better than nothing.

Inhaling deeply, he forced his own nerves down. They all were nervous, but someone needed to appear calm besides Tenn.

Every set of eyes was on him as they waited for him to reveal his plan.

"Alright." He exhaled quietly. "Here's what I got."

#

Iggy would never get used to the raucous sounds of the audience filling the thousands of seats in Neon City's crown jewel that was the Elysian stadium.

He could barely hear his own thoughts over the noise. Adjusting his helmet, he took his position within his team's designated quadrant. The other tributes assumed their spots as well, their heads on a constant swivel as they awaited the start of the game.

Tenn stood with his head bowed and his eyes closed. His lips moved rapidly as he spoke in his native language. It looked like he was praying. A few days ago, the man admitted he stopped praying to his gods. The boy couldn't fault him for falling back into his faith with death staring him in the face.

Iggy had half a mind to pray to the Yensari gods, but he'd never been much of a prayer. Instead, he remained in front of his team's flag and tried his best not to spontaneously combust. A million thoughts raged on in his mind. He shook out his hands and legs as if that would get the jitters to go away.

Above him, the jumbotron displayed several different angles of the arena recorded by the tiny drones flying overhead. An overlay from whatever broadcast the Elysian Games were distributed through covered the video feed. After a few shots of the raging crowd were shown, the commentator's room took center stage.

Moxi Daystar sat beside an android who sported an even wilder—and more colorful—haircut. Beaming like a star, Moxi grabbed his mic and amped up the crowd. The roars rolling down from the stands were deafening.

"Ladies and gentlemen!" The game's host's voice boomed throughout the stadium. "Are you ready for tonight's main event?!" Fire erupted from hidden pyrotechnics, pumping smoke and ash into the already dark sky. Stars hid beyond black clouds, almost as if they were afraid to watch the violence about to occur beneath them.

Iggy didn't blame them.

He wanted no part in this either.

"Today, our beloved tributes will be engaging in a riveting game of Capture The Flag! As you can see, there are four teams. Place your bets now, because once we start, all bets will be locked in."

Iggy scanned the crowd as he tuned out Moxi's voice. He still couldn't wrap his head around the fact that this many people saw this as entertainment. And it wasn't just Elysians. While they made up the bulk of the onlookers, he spotted other beings from all over the galaxy.

They all couldn't wait to see his blood stain the grey concrete underneath his feet.

Scowling, he tightened his fingers around his dagger.

He'd do whatever it took to make sure they never saw him fall.

"Before we get started, we've decided to introduce a little twist to tonight's event. A bit of incentive for our brave fighters."

Iggy craned his neck to get a good look at the screens. "Incentive?"

"The team with the least amount of flag captures will be eliminated," Moxi explained. Excited murmurs rippled through the crowd. Dread and anguish doused the tributes like rain from a hurricane. Iggy pushed his sweat-dripped hair out of his eyes. Moxi wasn't done. "That isn't all, folks! The team with the most captures and eliminations will receive the chance to get sponsored by one of our very own Noblus houses!"

Tenn frowned at the jumbotron. "What?"

Iggy recalled what Ivy Brightway told him about sponsorships. Moxi's admission was the first time he'd officially heard about them, though. Getting any sort of outside help would do wonders for his chances of winning the games. With the team coming in last place being eliminated completely, that meant there would be fewer people to compete with for victory.

The thought made him scrunch his face up in disgust.

This whole time, he'd been preaching to look out for himself. But he couldn't help but feel sick to his stomach for even looking at the deaths of others as a positive thing. Sure, their demises might've propelled him further into the games, but they were still people. Their lives meant something too.

The empire might've taken his freedom. It might've even taken his life when it was all said and done. But if his parents ever taught him anything, it was to never let them take his humanity.

He glanced at Tenn. "You ready?"

"Haven't you realized by now, boy? I'm always ready."

Nodding, Iggy turned his attention to the glowing numbers counting down in the center of the arena. They started at ten. Every time he blinked, the countdown decreased. His breathing slowed. The countdown hit five. The noise in his ears subsided into a dull buzz. He exhaled calmly, choosing to focus on the sound of his own breathing instead of the crowd screaming behind him. The countdown hit three.

Here we go.

It hit two.

Then it hit one.