[Welcome To The Last Mini-game!]
The white light faded.
Fifteen figures materialized across a vast circular coliseum.
The air around them felt cooler and drier. For a moment, none of them moved. The sudden shift left most of them unsteady, and breathing hard from the teleportation.
The coliseum loomed enormous around them.
Perfectly circular walls of smooth black marble rose high, their surfaces absorbing what little light reached them.
Row after row of empty stone seats circled the entire arena. The floor beneath their feet was the same dark stone, reflecting faint outlines of their figures.
Dominating the exact center was a single, tall obsidian throne, with a surface that absorbed all light.
The space felt too large. And too eerily quiet.
The air pressed against their skin with a subtle, constant weight.
Jaren stood rigid, his sword still in his grip.
Misfortune appeared a few steps to his left.
