Craze walked through the dimly lit hallway, his footsteps echoing against the stone walls. At the end of the corridor, he stepped into the arena.
It was nothing like the grand coliseums filled with roaring crowds. Here, only a few dozen eyes were locked onto him, silent, and full of expectation.
Eyes that said one thing: You die if you lose.
But Craze didn't care. In a place like this, losing already meant death. He slammed the head of his battle axe against the ground, the clang ringing sharply through the empty stands.
From the opposite gate, his opponent emerged. A Nephirid warrior, no, something more. He brandished a black scimitar that radiated heat, the blade shimmering like it had been forged in fire. His obsidian skin was marred by countless scars.
Craze's eyes widened in recognition, his grip tightening on the axe handle.
'They paired me with an Ashborn warrior?! Are they nuts?!'
