The Royale progressed for another week, and in that week, Antithesis thought he would vomit everywhere. Following Tyrant's fight, his match was up next. He didn't even care to learn the name of his opponent—his mind was far too fixated on finding a way out of the Roundfield. The chainlink fencing wasn't extremely strong, but it was extremely high, and that proved difficult for a speedy escape. Antithesis was extremely strong, but he wasn't nearly as agile. Tyrant could probably have gotten out faster, but their backs would be to guns. They could have climbed to the judges' booth, but then guns would be at their faces.
Despite being minimally invested in the fight, Antithesis managed to defeat his opponent with relative ease. His weapon was a very long chain, which he used to choke his challenger until he stopped struggling. Half an hour had elapsed before the fight ended, though most of that was from Antithesis running away from attacks.
Tyrant visited him that night, as he did every night, and in celebration of his victory, Tyrant provided him once again with a blowjob. For being so sporadic, Tyrant was surprisingly consistent in his lovemaking abilities, even gentle. Antithesis found it somewhat difficult to keep near silent, as Tyrant's movements were especially pleasing that night. In a twist of events, Tyrant decided to lay with Antithesis until he fell asleep. Sure enough, he fell asleep with Tyrant in his arms, and when he awoke, he'd disappeared.
The fights continued, and Antithesis watched them only in passing. Once Tyrant's fight popped on the monitor, however, he paid close attention.
Yet again, it seemed obvious that Tyrant would win. Using only a handheld pitchfork, he managed to effectively slay his opponent within five minutes. Again, he bowed to the judges, but this time he didn't shout at them. Instead, he just walked off the Roundfield with a stony expression.
Antithesis lay on his back and stared at the ceiling. There was no way to escape from this area, Tyrant had claimed. Was that really true? Tyrant used the vent system to travel from his room to Antithesis's, and he said that the vents provided air from the aboveground. Based on the staircases that connected the rooms to the Roundfield, they weren't too far underground. Maybe the way wasn't through the place, but up the vents.
Antithesis rose from the bed and stared up at the vent. Tyrant was smaller than him, but not by a drastic amount, so fitting through the grate shouldn't have been a problem. Based on how he'd fallen through each night, the vent grate opened out, not in. He couldn't reach it by hand from the floor—at least, not quietly.
His eyes drifted to the bed. It wasn't attached to the floor or the wall…
As quietly as he could, Antithesis dragged the wooden bed over to the vent—a journey of about three feet. Luckily, no intensely loud noises emanated from the movement. Carefully he climbed atop the bad, and he found himself right underneath the grate. A quick inspection revealed that it had been loosened considerably from the inside—undoubtedly Tyrant's doing. Slowly, Antithesis pulled open the vent. The metals creaked against each other, singing a discordant tune. Luckily for him, the noise level remained that of scurrying rats.
He pulled himself up into the vent, far larger than he'd originally anticipated. He couldn't stand, but he could crawl comfortably. And crawl he did, keeping his movements quick but small. Through small slits and other grates, Antithesis was able to view the rest of the underground space. He found what he assumed to be Tyrant's room—the sheets on the bed looked like a wreck.
The more he crawled, the more dashed his hopes became. No chute provided a definite way to the aboveground. When he did come across one, they either too high to climb quietly or too high to climb at all. He searched mercilessly, for what had to have been half an hour, but with no luck. Defeated, Antithesis crawled back to his room, hopped down, and let dread eat away at his intestines.
More days ticked by, and more participants fell, until finally, only Tyrant and Antithesis were left. His intestines were gone three days ago, but dread still rotted away his insides. They were kept "apart" for the next week. Outside of the Roundfield, various aspects of the media publicized and advertised the fight between Tyrant and Antithesis. This hype for the fight promoted more ticket sales, the profits of which were given to the winner of the fight without tax.
Though, of course, that sum couldn't make up for the loss they would both experience.
After what felt like twelve years, the fight came, and Antithesis had no insides left that hadn't been molested by dread's fingers. Both were given the same weapons: a single but ferocious knife. Antithesis gripped that knife tightly in his hand now, to the point where his knuckles were white. He stood at the end of the hall, his heartbeat rapid. The announcer spoke some nonsense outside, undoubtedly hyping the audience about impending deaths. How pleasant.
The gate at the end opened, and sunlight poured into Antithesis's path. Despite how promising it looked, it only brought a sense of despair.
This is it, he thought. We'll die here…
He carried leaden feet onto the Roundfield, where he viewed an equally-distraught Tyrant. His eyes were bloodshot, though, and the sunlight beamed brightly on Tyrant's tear streaks. This had to be more than devastating for him—he was in love with Antithesis, after all. Based on how he felt, though, Antithesis started to call his emotions the same thing.
"Let the final battle of the Royale commence!" the announcer shouted.
The duo stood silent and motionless for a few moments, but only seconds after the announcer spoke, Tyrant dashed forward. He brandished his knife and brought it across in a slash, but Antithesis managed to collide his own blade with Tyrant's. The sadness and anxiety brought with this reality affected his abilities—Tyrant was trembling, and little noises bubbled from his mouth.
Antithesis widened his eyes.
A sense of urgency filling him, Antithesis swung his hand to the side and pressed his foot to Tyrant's chest. The blow brought him to his back, but Tyrant didn't make the slightest effort to get back up. Despite this, Antithesis straddled his hips and held the knife above his forehead. He kept his expression stony, a stark contrast from the teary mess that was Tyrant.
"I love you…" he whispered, his voice broken by sadness.
Antithesis just stared down at him. He looked so defenseless…
He gripped the knife tightly and brought his arm up. Sunlight glinted on the tip of the blade. Tyrant pinched his eyes shut.
Antithesis brought the knife down.
