Chapter 287
While Grey was settling into the spectating stands above, deep beneath the coliseum, a chamber thrummed with barely restrained anticipation.
Beneath the grandeur of the arena, a vast underground sanctum stretched wide—carved into the bedrock itself.
The air was thick with tension, tinged with the metallic scent of blood, sweat, and raw mana. Each breath carried the weight of the coming battle.
Massive walls of dark obsidian stone rose around the space, their surfaces veined with glowing, ancient runes that pulsed in rhythmic intervals—an intricate network of mana circuits designed not only to suppress volatile magic but to absorb its echoes.
The chamber was circular, an architectural marvel that exuded both elegance and ancient brutality.
Torches flickered along the perimeter, their flames an unnatural blue-white, casting ghostly shadows across arched ceilings and highlighting every tense muscle, every uneasy glance.
