The Crystal Colosseum no longer sounded with deafening cheers or the sharp ringing of clashing steel. It was completely silent. The thick dust of the brutal battlefield settled slowly, falling like gray snowfall in the pale light of the dawn. It coated the broken crystal floor, the shattered pillars, and the cooling lava. Where once the ambient air had literally screamed with overwhelming magical power, now it only breathed residual heat and the bitter scent of burnt ozone. The ancient, towering crystal walls stood fractured, their protective magical runes dimmed and flickering weakly. They looked vigorously exhausted, as if the magic was deeply tired from witnessing something it was never meant to endure.
Beneath, on the ruined arena floor, the thick molten veins that Pyrix had summoned slowly cooled. The luminescent orange embers faded into lifeless, dull grey stone. It was the aftermath.
