The sphere on the velvet cushion possessed all the malevolent energy of cobblestone. It was a rock, utterly mundane.
And yet, it was the single most terrifying thing Creed had ever seen.
He stared at it, his insides growing more and more hollow, as Carson, oblivious, launched into the closing argument of his life.
"Your Honor, esteemed members of the court," he began, his voice attempting to command a level of gravity it could never hope to achieve. "We are not here to deny my client's actions. But we must, we must, consider the nature of the weapon itself. Such artifacts, as we students of sacred items can attest, are not mere weapons or tools. They are often imbued with a will of their own."
A low ripple of laughter spread through the first few rows of students. Carson's ears turned pink, but he pressed on.
"This object," he gestured at the sphere, "is clearly one of a corrupted nature. It preyed on a troubled and isolated child. It whispered lies, and compelled my client, twisting his resentment into an act of violence which he could have never conceived on his own!"
While Carson's pathetic words dissolved into the hostile air of the arena, Creed's mind raced.
'The real Eye, the one given to him by HERO, had been covered in markings of their forbidden language. To present that to the court would be to scream that they had infiltrated deep into the spire. It would trigger paranoia, an investigation, questions the church officials had no intention of answering.'
'Of course they had switched it. They weren't just prosecuting him, they were getting rid of all the loose ends tied to him. His entire story was being rewritten into a simple tale of a lone, crazed student. HERO had used him as a pawn, now the Spire was using him as a scapegoat. He was trapped between two grinding forces, each attempting to crush him.'
He was a complete fool.
"--and therefore, the blame cannot fall solely on my client!" Carson concluded, his voice cracking with the strain. He looked hopefully at the judge.
The old man, who had been slumping further into his chair, grunted. His jowly face one of complete boredom.
"A fascinating theory, Mr.Carson. Does the defense have any other tales before we move to closing arguments? Perhaps the statues in the halls gave him poor advice as well?"
The crowd roared with laughter.
Carson, flustered and panicked, took a step forward. "Your honor, we protest the rush of closing statements. We haven't had enough time to prepare a rebuttal or to find our own witnesses."
The Judge leaned forward, his bored expression turning into one of irritation. "You had your chance to cross examine the prosecution's witness, Mr.Carson. And as for witnesses…" he let the word hang in the air, then scanned the entire colosseum with deliberate slowness. "I will ask this. Is there anyone? Is there a single soul in the entire Spire willing to come down and speak on the boy's behalf?"
The question was like a knife on a birthday cake, it slid effortlessly in between Carson's ribs. It wasn't a genuine question, it was a public declaration of Creed's isolation. Humiliation.
Carson's mouth opened in rebuttal, but closed silently. His eyes looked around the arena, at the sea of students, instructors, officials, even nobles, all with hostile faces. He turned and looked at Creed, a helpless look in his eyes. His shoulders slumped as the last of his fight seemed to be drained out of him. He walked back to their table and sank back into his chair without another word.
"I thought not," the judge announced with immense satisfaction. "Prosecutor Marx, your closing statement."
Marx rose, a predator sensing his kill. He stood in the center floor again, his quiet confidence radiating. His eyes swept over the arena, holding them all captive.
"Look at him," Marx began, he pointed a single accusatory finger at Creed. "Not a victim. Not a troubled boy. A snake. A snake we nurtured in our sacred halls, with our facilities, with our kindness and with our best instructors. A rot that grew feeding on envy and arrogance. He would have you believe the Spire let him down. No. He let us down. He spat on our traditions, on our order, our faith, and on Verdia herself."
A murmur of agreement spread through the stands. Marx let it build.
"He raised a weapon against a man who embodies the divine patience and power of Verdia. And in his pathetic attempt of justice, he would have incinerated his fellow students without a second thought! Your friends! Your classmates!"
The murmur erupted into a full fledged roar. Shouts of "Traitor" and "Kill him!" echoed in the giant chamber.
Marx held up a hand, and the crowd fell silent once more.
"Do not let his youth fool you. Malice knows no age. Do not let his lawyer's pathetic excuses sway you. Treason has no excuse. Today, we purge the evil among us. Not just him, we show all of them what happens when you strike at the heart of our world. Justice is necessary, it is our only answer. He has earned his fate."
He finished, and the colosseum detonated. The crowd so loud Creed couldn't hear himself think, not that he had anything good to think on. His fate was sealed.
Marx, a smirk on his lips, turned and walked calmly back to his table. He didn't spare Creed a glance. He knew the trial was over.
"Mr.Carson," the judge sighed, already reaching for the ceremonial black cloth used for delivering a guilty verdict. "Your turn."
Carson pushed himself to his feet like a death row inmate walking to his execution. His hands, slick with sweat, gripped the edge of the table.
Creed's world narrowed, the roaring of the crowd faded, the troll behind his eye now retired. His life was flashing before his eyes and what a sad life it was. The hungry days he spent at the orphanage, his grey lonely cell, the whispers that followed him everywhere he went and the girl who caused them.
'Emily'
He didn't hate her… they were really one in the same.
'Iris'
The absolute cold in her eyes as she turned her back on him. He would truly regret never making things right with her.
'Valerius'
The face the Archon had given him after his failed attempt at martyrdom… and those words.
'Those who submit. The dogs.'
A cruel mockery. That's what the words were. A final kick when he was already down.
But his face… Valerius's face…
It didn't fit. It wasn't the look of a mocking man. You don't mock a waste. You just throw it out.
'Those words weren't a burn, they were a label. A category.'
The orphanage, the Spire, the opinions of his peers. Creed had always been submitting to power, to survive, until he decided to revolt.
Yeah. He was in that category. A dog, one that was about to be put down.
Then the other words came swimming up through the noise.
'A dog should always call on his master.'
It was another kick.
Wait.
'A category… and an instruction?'
That didn't make sense…
Unless… unless...
'If you're a dog… you do what a dog does.'
Hahahahha
HAHAHAHAHAH
He was truly a fool.
It was insane. It was suicidal. It was all he had left.
Carson had already walked to the center of the marble floor and opened his mouth to begin his closing statement, to utter the last rites over Creed's short life.
"Wait!"
Creed's voice, raw and desperate, tore out of his throat and shredded the air. Carson flinched, his pathetic words dying on his lips. The roar of the crowd faltered.
Marx looked up, his expression one of pure annoyance.
Creed jumped to his feet, his heart pounding. "The defense," he yelled, "would like to call a witness!"
The judge's face contorted with rage. "I have already asked your counsel, boy! There is no one! Stop wasting the court's time!"
Creed ignored him. He took a deep, shaky breath, locking his eyes on the grand Archon's booth high above the floor. He poured every last shred of his being into one final shout.
"We call Archon Valerius to the stand!"
A shockwave of pure disbelief ripped through the colosseum. Silence, sudden and absolute silence fell on the arena. Jaws hung slack. Carson stared at Creed as if he had sprouted a second head and started vomiting frogs. Calling the victim, an Archon, as a witness for the defense of his own would be assassin. It was beyond madness.
The judge's face turned a shade of purple. "That is the most absurd… insolent… outrageous…"
He never finished his sentence.
One heartbeat, the grand Archon's booth was empty.
The next, Valerius was simply there.
He stood on the marble floor of the arena, not ten feet from the witness stand. His dark gold robes were perfectly still. His luminous white hair glowing even brighter than before. He hadn't walked or teleported in a flash of power. One moment the space was empty, the next it was occupied. The very laws of physics had been politely told to look the other way.
The world had frozen again. And this time, everyone saw it happen.