So the days ticked their way by, and each one was extremely longer than the last. Antithesis had been involved in no fights after his; at least, not for a few days. So he just sat in his room, watching the conflict on a monitor that displayed the battle's happenings. The remaining challengers were formidable, but each of them had the same fearful look in their eyes. None were cold-blooded, thankfully; that would have made for an extremely difficult, taxing fight that he wasn't prepared to participate in. None of them seemed overly strong, either. Antithesis probably could have crushed their skulls with a single punch, should he hit them hard enough.

As he'd just been inserted recently, Tyrant was placed with the outlier challenger, so he was scheduled last. Antithesis watched only in passing when the other challengers fought; with Tyrant, however, he watched with bated breath.

His challenger was also from South, though Antithesis didn't catch his name. Something with an R. Rokta, maybe. He was relatively massive, at least when compared to Tyrant. Regardless, Tyrant didn't seem affected. Rokta held a club in his hand, and Tyrant had a rusty spoon. His reputation must have gotten the best of him when it came to the judges—the identities of whom had not yet been revealed. Antithesis wondered if he'd ever know who the judges were.

The battle commenced, and instantly it was clear who the victor would be. Rokta charged at Tyrant with his club brandished, but when he swung it down, Tyrant dodged easily. He crouched, then lunged upward to stab Rokta through the stomach with the sharpened end of the spoon. To solidify the blow, Tyrant jerked his weapon to the side, effectively gutting him. He pulled out the spoon, but before Rokta could even fall to the ground, Tyrant stabbed him through the eyeball—an extremely gruesome display. The monitors didn't have sound, but he could tell that Tyrant's fight had garnered reactions of still shock. Rather than walk off emotionlessly, Tyrant outstretched his arms, pulled one to his chest, and bowed, like an actor in a theater. He remained that way for a bit of time, then pointed his finger in the direction of the judges' booth. He shouted something at them, then exited his "stage."

Antithesis just stared at the screen. What the fuck was that? Had Tyrant just celebrated someone's death at his hands?

He thought back to their first meeting. Tyrant had saved Antithesis from kidnapping and/or murder, and to do that, he'd killed someone. Now that he looked back, Tyrant didn't seem that affected. He didn't seem like he'd enjoyed it, but he didn't seem very somber, either. Would he be like that with Antithesis? Hell, would he be able to kill Antithesis at all? Fuck, would Antithesis be able to kill him?

Thoughts like those plagued his mind as night fell, and they only spiked in intensity when Tyrant fell—gracefully this time—from the vent.

"What's up?" Tyrant whispered. He seated himself on the bed, right next to Antithesis. His lips met Antithesis's in a sweet kiss. "I missed you."

"Me too," Antithesis mumbled.

Frowning, Tyrant lay on his back across Antithesis's legs and stared up at him. "What's wrong? You look awful."

"Nothing. I just...I watched your fight earlier."

"Mmm." Tyrant drew swirls with his finger on Antithesis's bare torso. "You have a really nice body. I like it."

"I know, Tyrant."

Tyrant sat up and cupped Antithesis's cheeks. "But it's in desperate need of love," he murmured, kissing Antithesis deeply.

Antithesis didn't fight him, but he didn't feel nearly as eager. "Is it really a good idea to have sex?" he asked. As he spoke, Tyrant started licking and kissing Antithesis's neck. Letting out a soft moan, Antithesis tilted his head to the side to give him more access. "Someone might hear…"

"I'll be quiet," Tyrant promised.

"No, you won't."

"Yeah, you're right." He ran his fingers through Antithesis's hair. "Well, can you stay quiet?"

"Probably."

"All right." With a final kiss to his neck, Tyrant moved to his knees. "This good?"

"Sure."

Tyrant opened the rest of Antithesis's jumpsuit and pulled down his underwear. Taking his member in hand, Tyrant slipped it into his mouth and began sucking. Antithesis let out a sigh and tilted his head back. His fingers curled in Tyrant's hair.

"I've missed this," Antithesis murmured. He thrust gently into Tyrant's mouth, eliciting soft groans from his mouth. "I have a lot built up."

"I can tell," Tyrant said, running his tongue up Antithesis's member. "You're pulsing."

"I know. Get ready."

Tyrant chuckled, the vibrations enough to send Antithesis over the edge. He let out a grunt and came into Tyrant's mouth. Tyrant moaned softly as well, and he consumed the release without hesitation. Courteously he removed Antithesis's jumpsuit, then took off his own. He sat in Antithesis's lap, then wrapped his arms around his neck and kissed him sweetly. Antithesis ran his hands up and down Tyrant's sides, squeezing gently. He broke the kiss moments later, then murmured, "Didn't I say no sex?"

"It's not sex," he murmured back. "I'm just in the mood for kissing."

"I'm not," he mumbled.

Tyrant pouted down at him. "Why not? You're already done after coming once?"

"It's not that. I'm just...not in the mood…"

The playful edge to his voice disappeared. "What's wrong, Antithesis?"

"What isn't wrong?" he asked. "We'll be fighting one another soon."

Guilt seeped into Tyrant's countenance, and he stared off at the monitor. "You saw?"

"Yeah. I did. What was the show you gave?"

"Show?"

"Yeah. You bowed after you...killed your opponent. And shouted at the judges. Why?"

"Oh, that…" Tyrant sighed. "You want to know what I shouted at them?"

"Preferably, yeah."

"I told them, 'You should've executed me when you had the chance. This Royale won't have a victor.' Or something like that. They don't want me to win, and it's extremely visible. I think they want you to win."

"Me?"

"Yeah. They know your relationship to me—having you kill me would be extremely wonderful to them. However...we both know that you're not going to kill me. And I won't kill you. That's why I said there won't be a victor."

"So what do we do in the final round?"

Tyrant shrugged. "I don't know. They'll keep us here until one of us is killed. I don't want to die, and you don't, either, but...suicide is probably the only way out of dying here anyway."

"No, that's not happening," Antithesis denied. "We're not going to kill ourselves. We can't! There has to be another way to escape!"

"There's no way out from under here, and if we try on the top level, they'll just shoot at us until we're dead. The only way we could both get out as the 'victors' would be if the judges make an exception. That hasn't happened in the history of the Royale."

"What qualifies for a reason to make an exception?"

"I don't know. No one's ever done it before."

Antithesis hugged Tyrant tightly, keeping his head in his chest. "I changed my mind," he whispered. "I want to have sex."