GLADIATOR | ELYSIUM RISING 1 ✔️

⍢ | 7

Sweat poured down Iggy's face in waterfalls. Blood rushed to his straining face as he struggled to push himself up from the ground. His arms felt like someone had replaced his underdeveloped muscles with molten lava. A shuttering exhale escaped his lips before he collapsed to the cold floor of the empty hallway.

Tenn, who leaned against the wall with his arms folded, clicked his tongue.

Iggy rolled over onto his back, sucking in rapid breaths while blinking away the silver spots dotting his vision.

"Fifteen press-ups? Is that seriously the best you can do?"

"I'm trying my best," Iggy wheezed. "Between working in the mines and taking care of my mother, I never had time to exercise."

"You'd think years of physical labor would've done something for you."

"Yeah, well, all it did was almost get me killed."

He scowled at the memory of his near-death days before in the mines. Using his quivering arms for support, he propped himself up and threw his head back. His sweat-coated hair clung to his face for dear life. After a few moments, his breathing returned to normal.

For the past few days, he and Tenn had been training in various corridors throughout the Chyron. The courtyards were too crowded during the day, and Iggy was still on Vonn's hit list. Empty halls and their respective cells were the best places to carry out his training.

Today's lesson centered around Iggy's fitness­—or lack thereof.

His stamina was next to nonexistent. His strength wasn't far behind. While he was quick and agile, his bum ankle even made walking a chore. He could barely do a press-up without wanting to die. How did he expect to survive the arena?

A dejected sigh left his lips.

"Get up," Tenn ordered.

"Can't I just lay here for a while?"

"You wanted me to train you, didn't you?"

Iggy sighed.

"Get up, Iggorii."

Groaning, he forced himself to his feet. He clasped his hands together and held them behind his head, attempting to allow more oxygen to fill his lungs. It didn't work. He squinted at the Andradan ahead of him, who grabbed two long, metal rods from the ground.

"What're those?"

"They were mops." Tenn tossed one to him, which he nearly dropped. "Now they're sparring weapons."

His face lit up. "We're sparring?" Grinning, he gripped the rod with both hands and pretended to strike down imaginary foes. Out the corner of his eye, he could see Tenn frowning disapprovingly at him.

"You are even worse than I thought," the old man said.

Iggy ignored him. He pointed his pretend weapon at him. "Alright, show me what you've got then."

Tenn allowed himself to smile. He twirled the metal rod in his hand with enough dexterity to make Iggy gawk. The Andradan had pulled his jumpsuit down during the start of the day's lesson, revealing the white undershirt he wore underneath. His toned arms flexed as he spun the pole. The dark ink decorating his pearly skin particularly caught Iggy's eye. With a low grunt, Tenn slashed the rod through the air in a wide arc. Spinning on the balls of his feet, he brought it close to his body, both of his hands grasping where the hilt of a sword would have been.

He was in his element. Not only was Tenn a capable fighter, but he was also a master swordsman. He would have no trouble making it far in the games. As for Iggy, he wouldn't have stood a chance against someone like Tenn.