Under the cover of shadow, Taleth moved.
He did not need maps.
He had already memorized the layout from the ants.
Every corridor.
Every guard rotation.
Every place where he could hide.
It did not take him long to reach his destination.
The coliseum loomed ahead, an enormous blackstone structure carved into the spine of a volcanic ridge.
Smoke drifted constantly from its upper tiers.
The sound of cheers and screams still echoed in the vents even after the last match had ended.
Here, the fighting never truly stopped.
Most people assumed the coliseum's glory matches were the only events.
They were wrong.
Every hour, in the lower pits, slaves were thrown into blood-stained arenas.
They were forced to fight for survival, used to train favored fighters, or made to entertain bored handlers and nobles who had nothing better to do.
Taleth approached the outer gate from the maintenance side.
There were fewer patrols here.
